Revelations
by Nan00k
Summary: When a desperate Castiel showed up on his doorstep, Dean wasn't amused. They had an hour to save the world from Raphael's second apocalypse plans. Now they, Gabriel, and a hapless mother to be have ten months to hope their decision will stop him.  AU S6.
1. Prologue

_**Revelations**_**  
Prologue**  
By Nan00k

_When a desperate Castiel showed up on his doorstep a month after the failed apocalypse, Dean wasn't amused. They had an hour to come up with a plan to save the world from Raphael. Now they have ten months to hope their decision will waylay a second apocalypse. AU Post-S5_

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**"Do not mistake consequence for fate."**

-Kirstin Brown

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_**August 4, 2010  
Cicero, Indiana**_

It ended as it started—with death, a chaotic whirlwind of heartbreak—and Dean standing by the way side, trying to catch up.

Sam was dead. He was… _dead_. He was in Hell, in the Cage with both Lucifer and Michael, trapped for eternity. There was no turning back the clock on that and no way to fix things. Sam had made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world and went into the pit willingly.

And Dean found himself waking up in a world of nothing.

Lisa and Ben were the best damn thing to happen to him since… he didn't even know when. When he opened his eyes, he saw a beautiful woman he had grown to love. He opened his eyes to domestic bliss—breakfast together in a warm kitchen, Ben making chatter, a delicious meal to start the day. Dean woke up to a world without monsters, without angels, without the fear of imminent death.

…He woke to a world without Sam.

And he felt _nothing_.

Castiel had been right to say Dean had no right to complain. He had gotten his wish of a life without heaven and without hell. He was granted that wish, of that "apple pie" life he had always, always wanted. He was a father, a spouse, a protector and provider. He got a job in mechanics. He had a wage. He had people to care about and spend time with.

He had stopped dreaming after the first week. There were no memories of that day at Scull Cemetery, or of Sam, or of anything, really. He fell asleep and dreamt of nothing. His days were fill with nothing. A nice nothing, without pain or pleasure, to remind him of things he had lost. The nothing let him breath. It let him exist without remembering. He didn't hate or love it.

He managed.

Lisa didn't say anything, if she noticed his apathy toward his newfound niche in the world. There wasn't total peace, but he had his freedom. He could have walked away, but he didn't. It was his choice to stay. He wanted to stay. Perhaps that was because he didn't have anywhere else to go, but… that was okay. Lisa would wrap her arms around him and Dean would do the same for her, closing his eyes, hoping the nothing was last forever.

It was a month when he found himself sitting alone in Lisa's living room, a place that was slowly becoming his living room too. Ben was out at practice and Lisa was shopping. It was a glorious Saturday morning, without a single care in the world to hound him. He was free to rest there, basking in the soothing sensation of…

Dean rolled the bottle of beer he had been nursing along, taking in the texture of the glass and label, eyes pinned to the dark brown glass but he really didn't see anything.

It had been an entire month. He hadn't thought about it much, to be honest. There wasn't much point in it, so he just… let the matter drop. He tried to shake it off and just move on, like everyone seemed to insist. What was done was… done.

This was Dean's life now.

Dean knew he was content. This was enough for him. He could live and die like this. Bobby told him that maybe it was just time to go ahead and take that sort of life. Hunting wasn't an option after everything that had happened. This was the only place he could call home. Even more than that, Dean knew Sam would have wanted him there. So, he stayed.

His head hurt, but he didn't know why.

The doorbell rang. Dean looked up, surprised. The sharp sound shook the last bit of lethargy from his system. He found himself standing automatically and he went through the motions of putting the beer down on the table, walking into the foyer and reaching the front door. He didn't feel much when he did that, but today, it just seemed unimportant to care.

Reaching out, Dean unlocked the heavy storm door and opened it. The screen had been busted a few days ago, so he had it in the garage to fix. There was nothing protecting him from the outside world then. Before he even had the chance to regret opening the door and exposing himself prematurely to whatever lurked beyond the veil of this simple life, a voice shattered the void:

"Dean."

Dean stared out over the threshold. Part of his mind had fallen… and was not getting back up again.

"Holy… shit," Dean breathed, stumbling back into the frame of the door, eyes wide. "_Cas_?"

Beige raincoat torn and spattered with blood and grime, Castiel met his eyes without hesitation. The startling, inhuman blue made Dean freeze. The angel had never looked more severe.

"I need your help."


	2. The Beginning: Part One

_**Revelations**_**  
The Beginning: Part One**  
By Nan00k

Yet again, a new fandom for me to write in. I hope I do it justice. Many thanks to my dear friends Vickie and Ed, who got me into this show and are being my patient (COUGHCOUGH) betas and are making sure I don't screw this up. :3

Here are some important things to know: there will be _original characters _and the plot isn't, historically speaking, entirely unique. It is also taking place over ten months of action, with each chapter encompassing one "Week." **This is taking place one month after the end of season five**, so Sam is still in the cage and Dean is with Lisa and Ben. After that, it becomes an alternative universe and you're more than welcome to stay to enjoy the ride. Also included is Dean and Castiel bromance, Gabriel's return, Bobby, Crowley and cases to solve! Oh, and avoiding the Apocalypse again.

This is going to be a long ride, everyone. I hope you enjoy yourselves. :)

**Note: this chapter has been cut into two segments, so please continue onto **_**Beginning: Part Two**_** after reading this. It will be posted the day after I first post _Part One_.  
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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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_**Nazareth, Ohio**__**  
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The car drove over the gravel driveway, crunching the tiny stones mercilessly. Hunched in the back of her father's tiny car, Deborah finished up wondering just how long she'd be forced to sit there with half of their pantry's collection of canned goods, when finally, by the grace of God, Lionel Garrison parked the car.

"Alrighty, let's get this all inside," Lionel said, sounding relieved, though he wasn't the one stuck holding the crates up in the back of the Hatchback. "You okay, Debbie?"

"Yeah, dad, I got it," she answered. He went around and got the passenger seat down, so she could climb out.

Breathing fresh air, Deborah looked around at the empty church parking lot. They didn't live far from the town center, where the church was located, but the ride over had been horrible only because they had made pit stop after pit stop at the local charity locations. They didn't have the funds for a truck to pick up the canned donations from the schools and offices for the shelter, so they had to go grab it all by hand. Deborah really couldn't complain about the trouble, all things considered. It was the right thing to do.

"You're going to miss me when I go back to Maine," she said, laughing as she hauled a large cardboard box of cans up. Lionel's back was pretty worn out from working around the chapel, from all the construction he had done. "Gonna have to find some other poor sap to do your manual labor, or get mom to take the day off from the daycare."

Lionel just laughed, grabbing a smaller box, and the two headed toward the church's side entrance. "I'll miss you anyway, Deb," he replied. He kept the door propped open with his foot and Deborah slipped inside.

The church was more of a chapel, but it was a lovely building. For all of her life, she had spent Sundays and sometimes Saturdays looking up at the stained glass and the large crucifix at the back wall, behind the altar. Depositing her crate in the back corner where the drive volunteers would pick them up tomorrow, Deborah gazed upward again, taking in the sights.

Leaving Nazareth had been tough. She wanted to be a teacher, but a good one at that. She got into Maine State a year ago and she loved it there. But her heart, she knew, would always be at home. Her father was a good preacher and her mother a good housekeeper. Deborah had friends and family there. The little town was small, but it was… home.

Summer granted her the opportunity to come back to Nazareth, and it only further cemented the idea she had that when she graduated, she would come back here. For now, she was glad to be helping out around the community. The food drive was going towards the local homeless, but it was a small drive, so Deborah knew she had to help her father get a lot of the work done. She didn't mind, really—

A shadow leaped across the chapel floor. Deborah froze. Slowly, she turned, standing upright, uneasy. It had been a quick dash across the field of light coming in from the side windows, but it gave her chills for some reason. Looking up, she didn't see anything outside. Just the light streaming through the colored lights making up the Nativity scene remained.

Unsettled, Deborah suddenly felt the need to get outside. It was probably silly, but she felt immensely unsafe standing there all of a sudden.

She went to move the crate back and then head outside again, but something almost quite literally stopped her in her tracks.

The shadow was back, but this time in the full-bodied form of a man.

Deborah yelled and stumbled backwards, slamming into one of the pews. The next time she blinked, the shadow was gone. There was nothing in the window—a window that was neatly one story above where a man could have stood.

…What on Earth?

Breathing slightly faster than before, Deborah watched the floor, but none of the other shadows moved. Nothing seemed out of place in the church. It was utterly still and silent.

"What's the matter, Debbie?" her father called from the doors with another box of goods, the sunlight streaming in behind him from the outside.

Deborah looked back up at the windows, stunned. There still wasn't anything there. It was empty, except for the two of them.

"…I…" Deborah shook her head, eyes narrowed. "Never mind…"

She was just distracted. She was just tired from traveling and it had been a long day, that was all. She shook her head and the image away, turning back to her father. They had work to do.

**0000**

_**Oklahoma**_

They were losing the war.

Castiel hadn't entered back into the Host with expectations of anything, really. He had been brought back as unexpectedly as Sam's control over his body in the final moments of the fight. There were no answers on Earth. Castiel knew his place, once he was certain humanity truly had been saved, was back in Heaven. His brothers and sisters needed him there, as a witness to what truly happened.

Remaining just that, a witness, had lasted a very short time. There was absolute chaos resounding over the heavens as the reality of Michael being thrown into the pit with Lucifer sunk in. The prophecies were proven wrong. There was no apocalypse. There was no one left to rule Heaven.

That wasn't entirely true, as Castiel reluctantly found out. Raphael had returned a while ago, and despite him not interfering after he and Castiel's encounter, the archangel had stepped up without question. By right of succession, Raphael was indeed the true leader Heaven was to turn to. All of the other archangels were essentially dead, after all. Castiel, despite his miraculous second return and increased power, was still a seraph. He had no claim.

To his surprise, not every angel thought the same. He had many supporters in the ranks of the common soldiers, who had either seen or heard of the events at Stull Cemetery. The truth was out, at least, most of it was. While none of them seemed to have the same faith-challenging mindset Castiel had developed, the majority of them recognized the fact that Michael and his immediate brothers had grossly overstepped their boundaries.

Raphael, of course, has his own supporters. Castiel had never wanted a fight; after everything that had happened on Earth, he had been praying that he could just fix things was the same solid, albeit shocking conclusion Earth had had. That wasn't going to be the case. Raphael declared war, and suddenly, Castiel found himself a general instead of the foot solider he had always been before.

Mostly, he thought absently as he discussed strategy with his few but strong allies, he suspected the angels loyal to him were more impressed with his second resurrection. There had been no explanation for him surviving death for a second time. All of the beings capable of doing such a thing weren't applicable… except for one. God himself. If Dean was there to observe it, Castiel knew he would say Castiel had become an overnight celebrity.

Raphael was fierce and had far more experience at leading armies that Castiel did. The fights were brutal, and despite Castiel's pleas to cease the violence, it became clear that he was going to be slaying his own brothers… angels he had existed with for as long as he could remember. Their blood stained the halls of Heaven and nothing was stopping it.

But in recent days, Castiel knew his side was slowing down. The skirmishes were beginning to wane in number, but they had devastating consequences. He watched his so-called troops dwindle and suddenly, he realized that if it continued the way it was heading, he was going to lose. They were going to lose.

He did not trust Raphael. Castiel had no idea what the archangel was planning now, or had planned for Heaven and Earth. There was always the chance he would try to open the cage somehow to restart what Michael and Lucifer had started. Without the Horsemen Rings (carefully and secretly taken by Dean), that wasn't possible, but Castiel knew Raphael was ruthless. Earth was not safe as long as he continued to warmonger.

That's why he was there, back on the planet, that day in August. There had been a string of violent altercations. Castiel had lost three brothers that past week alone. It was worse than when they had been fighting demons; the murderers were also angels. It was surreal to think they were actually in a civil war, but at that point, he knew he couldn't deny it anymore.

Standing alone in an inconspicuous forest, Castiel tried to catch his breath, so to speak. Earth would always give him peace if he sought it in places like these. He missed people, but only certain kinds. He had thought about seeking out his friends—yes, _friends_—but he had hesitated. Dean Winchester was trying to recover from his own insurmountable losses in the last fight. Bobby Singer wasn't at his house currently and, well, that was about it.

Castiel didn't mind being alone for the time being. Perhaps, someday, he'd go find Dean, just to… talk. Or whatever friends did. As insufferable as the human could be, he had given Castiel something no one else had ever given him: his own mind.

Yes, he owed the human for that.

It had just rained, so the forest was alive with movement and soft sounds. Closing his eyes, Castiel pretended this was Heaven. It could have been, before the last month of violence had occurred. This was the simplicity their Father had cherished—this is what they all should cherish. The people were an acquired taste, but they were equally as valued in their Creator's eyes.

Castiel gave himself a few minutes to enjoy the peace before deciding it was time to return. His followers needed a leader, even if he was a poor one. He had come back for a reason, he admitted. He would do his best. It was all he could offer, in the end.

He had the pleasure of feeling, for the briefest of seconds, a hand striking his face. The next thing he knew, he was colliding with a large oak tree possibly miles from his original location, breaking through it. The tree when crashing to the ground about the same time Castiel had the sense to stop himself and roll to the ground, ignoring how his vessel dug a large indentation into the Earth from the effort.

When the world stopped spinning, Castiel was already on his feet, eyes seeking out his attacker. Honestly, it wasn't that surprising.

Raphael walked forward, as if he hadn't just punched the other angel clear across the forest, his eyes fixed on his prey.

"Castiel," he began, voice as deep as ever.

Tilting his head, Castiel met his gaze fearlessly. "Raphael," he replied. He hadn't seen Raphael directly on the field of battle for quite some time.

The archangel stopped several yards away, giving Castiel a wide berth. "You are a difficult person to find when you don't want to be found," Raphael said, almost sounding amused. "You underestimate me terribly."

"You seem to be underestimating me as well, Raphael, to come alone," Castiel retorted, keeping his emotions in check. For some reason, he had the clear

That hit a nerve. "I am more than capable of squashing you where you stand, traitor," the archangel said irritably, the smile vanishing.

Castiel shifted uneasily, well aware how true that was. Even if he had come back with more power than before, he was no match for an archangel. "What do you want?" he asked, instead of goading him more.

"What makes you say that?" Raphael asked, throwing Castiel off guard. The anger in Raphael's face had faded and the archangel seemed… too calm. His tone was too light for Castiel's comfort.

"You would not come here alone just to provoke a fight. You prefer to send your underlings," Castiel replied, eyes glancing around briefly to make sure it truly was just Raphael there. They were alone. "You want to discuss something. Talk now, before I lose my patience."

Raphael's eyes narrowed again, but his voice was calm. "You are far more outspoken than you were. I was hoping that after you recovered your Grace, you would have remembered to be respectful as you had been," the taller angel replied coolly. "Winchester must have truly ruined you."

Castiel clenched his fists, unconsciously. "What do you _want_, Raphael?" he demanded, now beginning to feel irritated himself. He had to be prepared for a trick or a trap. If he fell, he knew his resistance army would also fall.

Raphael didn't even blink. "Jesse Turner has begun to amass followers," he said.

Castiel stared at his ex-superior and… didn't say a thing. He didn't have anything to say, not then, because all he could think was, _How?_

He had never said a word to the Host about his discovery of the Cambion. That had been after his exile, so he had no one to report the situation to. After the child escaped, he had still considered it an important threat to be concerned about, but, well, the apocalypse had effectively stolen his attention. Raphael, unless he had also heard of it separately, shouldn't have known about it.

The cold glint in Raphael's eyes told Castiel that wasn't the case. "Yes, Castiel… we know about Jesse," he began, coy. "It seemed prudent to catch up on what little you and your friends had been up to when you cut yourself off from the Host. Finding a Cambion and not alerting us? That is a new low, even for you."

In his defense, Castiel would have told his brethren about the situation, but there had never been an opportunity. "It would have been pointless to raise the alarm and you know it," he shot back, now far more nervous. "No one can find him." Or defeat him, he added mentally.

"No," Raphael answered, smile growing. "But there are rumors."

Castiel hesitated. There was a coldness in his chest, a feeling that reminded him of his days as a human and he felt fear. "…Of what?" he asked, reluctantly.

"Demons, in large quantities, are moving again," Raphael replied, suddenly brisk. "They amass in great numbers and then abruptly break up. Then the same ones reappear eventually else where and the cycle repeats. It can't be Lucifer, no thanks to your treachery. Without a way to open the cage now, that is a lost cause." Raphael paused and then asked, "So what else, Castiel, could it possibly be?"

Oh, this was not good. If everything Raphael had just said was true, that meant… Castiel swallowed, another human tic. "Jesse… would not do that," he said, trying to convince the both of them. Sam had been so insistent. The boy wouldn't be a threat as long as he avoided demonic influence. They could avoid this.

"He is the Cambion. It is his destiny to destroy the Host," Raphael replied heatedly. "The end is here."

"Funny," Castiel began, abruptly letting the _Dean_ in him channel though, "I thought we just passed that milestone."

He must have said the phrase correctly, because Raphael snarled. "You have defiled God's plans for this world too many times, Castiel," he snapped. "But this is far more severe a threat than just Lucifer breaking free. You _know_ this."

"Jesse Turner will not attack the Host," Castiel shot back, not willing to believe it. It couldn't be true. Because that meant—

That meant that everything the few of them on Earth had gone through a month ago—

It meant _nothing_.

He couldn't accept that. He just… couldn't.

"You can see for yourself, then, how many demons there are, searching for him," Raphael replied, merciless. "The one we managed to capture spoke of him, finally. They are looking for him."

Castiel glared. "They will not find him. Not if he doesn't want them to."

"And what if he does?" Raphael challenged, taking a dominating step closer and Castiel felt cornered.

The thought had crossed his mind plenty of times over the months following their encounter with Jesse, but to agree with it would be devastating. "…He wouldn't," he said, knowing it was a weak answer. He _couldn't_ answer, not to this.

"Are you that blind, Castiel?" Raphael continued, ruthless. He gestured angrily around them. "Would you really take this chance? Even if your preposterous ideas of this child not being a threat were real, demons are coming for him. Eventually, he will listen to what they have to say. And what then?" The archangel's glare was smoldering. "How far goes your faith in him _then_?"

He didn't have faith in the Cambion. He had faith in his human nature, however. "…Do you have any proof?" Castiel asked at great length, dreading an answer.

"Yes." Raphael nodded. "I'll bring you to the demon to question yourself, if you wish."

The last thing Castiel wanted was to go anywhere with the other angel. "What do you want from me, Raphael?" he snapped, at his patience's limits. "You know as much as I do that even if Jesse did convert and become the Cambion, we wouldn't stand a chance. What's your end game?"

The look of pain in Raphael's expression seemed false to him. "Castiel…" Raphael began, "our brothers are dying. Murdering each other."

Castiel found it difficult to digest that it was Raphael of all people telling him that. "Yes. I've _noticed_." He was out there, nearly dying with them.

Raphael stepped closer, daringly, looking desperate. "Do you want to end it?" he demanded. "The fighting?"

"Of course," Castiel replied, frowning. "But that won't save us from Jesse." Even united and with their full power, they would be helpless against Jesse if he had activated all of his demonic potential.

"No," Raphael agreed. "But my end game, as you ask, is to do just that."

That made no sense. In fact, it made Castiel feel ill with apprehension. "…How?" he asked finally.

"You cannot tell me you don't remember the prophecies," Raphael began, chiding, mockingly reprimanding. "Lucifer and Michael were only part of the End."

All of the knowledge he had about the Cambion passed through his mind and slowly, slowly, Castiel realized what Raphael was intending.

To say he was horrified was an understatement.

"…A Scion?" he breathed, knowing he looked shocked, but he couldn't help it.

_Revelations_ had not been completely inaccurate with its prophecies. There would be the day when the Cambion fought its chief opponent—the Savior. The scion. The next holy child that would save the Host and bring about the Second Coming.

"Yes, Castiel," Raphael replied, smiling darkly.

"Are you… that's…" Castiel stumbled verbally. He drew back, now feeling the pressure even more to run. "No. That would place us right back where we were with Lucifer and Michael. A show down that no one would survive."

"It will be as it was written, brother," Raphael continued, again urgent. "Let us make a truce here, to end this pointless war, and get back to what should be—the ending our Father designed."

How did he ever believe that? That their Father would send his most beloved creation into the flames of destruction? "Our Father didn't plan for us to stand by and let the world be destroyed," Castiel said, glaring.

Raphael bore his teeth in aggression. "_Blasphemy_. It is _written_."

"You will never see the point, Raphael," Castiel shot back, trembling with anger and fear. This was more dangerous than he had expected. "You offer the Host peace while you will let Earth and humanity suffer from Jesse's wrath?" That's not what they had been created for. That was not their purpose!

"It must happen," Raphael snapped, eyes ablaze. "We cannot keep going like this, Castiel!"

The logically fallacies abounded. "If we bring a Scion into the field, and Jesse learns of it, what do you think will happen?" Castiel asked, his anger seeping into his voice. "We will _pressure_ him into violence. He will feel threatened and only then would he react."

"You don't know that," Raphael said.

Castiel drew back, snapping, "Neither do you!"

None of them knew the truth in this case. But that didn't matter to those who took the scriptures, most likely not created by God after all, to heart. "I know what has been written from Divine Revelation," Raphael said, undaunted. "This is our destiny, Castiel. Do not fight it."

He was _tired_ of destiny. He was tired of being forced to play a part in a plan that really had no purpose for existing, other than to bring pain and destruction. "What if I don't agree?" Castiel demanded, grasping for ground to stand on. Raphael wouldn't listen to him. "You can't create the Scion by yourself. And if you tried with another angel, I would stop you. What if I refuse to help?"

"Then our war continues, until my side wins," Raphael said bluntly, without hesitating for a second. "And we'll do it anyway."

It was as Castiel always expected from Raphael. There was no middle ground and no gray line for him. "…You have lost your sight. Completely," he said, shaking his head. He felt more than cornered now.

"No, Castiel," Raphael replied heavily, eyes sharp and judging. "You are the one who is lost."

There was a short pause. Castiel had no idea what Raphael was thinking, but for himself, he was at a loss. They couldn't do this. This… was just as bad as letting Lucifer out of the cage. This wasn't _right_. "Where is she?" Castiel asked, looking back at the other angel, trying to remain calm as history seemed to repeat itself.

"Nazareth, Ohio." Castiel suddenly had a strong dislike of irony. Raphael sent him a fierce look. "Do not think to interfere now, Castiel."

As if he could do anything. "…Give me a day," Castiel said at last, choosing his words carefully. "To think. I cannot just walk into this without thinking it over. I am unsure of how honest you are."

Raphael watched him carefully for a moment. "…Very well," he agreed, severe. "A day. If I find out you are attempting to interfere, I will kill you, Castiel."

"I would like to see you try," he said just as coolly. He nodded, eyes narrowed. "Good day, brother." Raphael left immediately and left Castiel to dwell on what he had just been told.

Raphael sent another angel hours later, with the information. Castiel took the reports of demon activities and checked it out himself. It was true. Or at least, the information was there. Whether or not the demon had been lying, Castiel didn't know. But the facts remained: the creature claimed he was searching for the Cambion and others were, too, judging by the massive amounts appearing all over the world at random, but in suspicious similarity. They would find the boy, the captured demon sneered, and make him what he should have been.

Castiel had no idea what to do after that. He couldn't find Jesse. He couldn't just approach the intended vessel for the Savior. He couldn't win against Raphael.

So, he went to find Dean.

**0000**

_**Two Days Later  
Cicero, Indiana**_

He was starting to hate Saturdays.

Dean let the angel stumble into the foyer and led him to the living room, where Castiel all but slumped into the couch, looking exhausted and troubled. A troubled Castiel usually meant a lot. Like world-ending a lot.

"How did you find me?" Dean asked, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. He hadn't heard a damn thing from Castiel, or any heavenly person, since, well, Sam died. Castiel had gone off to fix Heaven and from what little Dean could tell, things weren't going so well.

"Bobby told me you were still at Lisa's," Castiel said, his voice just as hoarse as before. He looked up at Dean before asking, "Are you alright?"

Manners. Those were new. "Yeah. Peachy," Dean said, knowing he sounded snappish. He sat down across from the angel, apprehensive. "Why are you here and look like you just fought a bear?"

Castiel sent him a weary look. "Raphael is many things, but not a bear."

That was worse than a bear attack. "_Wha_—oh, crap, Raphael?" Dean exclaimed, sitting upright. His fears were suddenly pretty rational. "What's going on now, Cas?"

Trouble in heaven meant trouble on Earth, and when trouble happened on both, that generally meant they were all in deep shit.

"Something horrible," Castiel croaked, closing his eyes. That was not _so_ helping.

"…How horrible?" Dean prompted, mind racing. He still had the rings, locked away deep in the closet, away from his hunter gear. He didn't trust anyone else with them. Without them, they couldn't open the cage… right?

Castiel's eyes opened and Dean looked into the familiar blue. There was a darkness in them now. "…I believe the term would be, the _sequel_," the angel suddenly muttered.

Dean had never seen the man so… depressed. Well, he had, but that was when he was half-human. Now, it was a bit more startling, because Dean knew Castiel couldn't have Fallen overnight. "To what?" he asked, wary.

"The Apocalypse."

There was a long pause. Dean stared out at the trench coat-clad angel, who looked startling out of place in Lisa's living room, and slowly… what he said sunk in.

What.

WHAT.

"…What?" Dean asked out loud. "What the _fuck_ does that even mean?" They had just gone through that, hadn't they? They had fixed it… hadn't they? !

Castiel sighed heavily, apparently calm, but utterly exhausted by what he had to say. "There are rumors Jesse Turner has returned," he replied.

Oh. Well. Fuck. Fuck everything, then.

"Where?" Dean asked, feeling increasingly disjointed from the conversation. This wasn't happening. It couldn't—not—not after everything—

"I do not know," Castiel replied. The weight of the world—and beyond—hung in his voice. "Heaven is very worried, however."

Dean mentally prayed that this was just some mistake, or something blown out of proportion. "So? Why are they upset? They weren't real upset about him last time. I mean, Christ, you haven't been looking for him this whole time."

Castiel gave him a patient look. "Before, he was not that much of a threat. We had… larger fish to fry," he replied, awkwardly. "And who is to say some of us weren't?"

Secretly, Dean had forgotten about the Jesse kid. He had been harmless in the end and seemed to understand the fact that evil was evil. He left them because he didn't want to be the Cambion or Antichrist or whatever the world expected him to be. He had shirked his destiny, just like the rest of them had. Or most of them.

"Great… has he acted out?" Dean asked, mind aching. "Killed anybody?"

"No, nothing yet apparently," Castiel said. Dean wanted to melt in relief, but something caught his eye.

Dean waved at the angel, getting his attention. "What's with that face?" he demanded.

Castiel looked ready to pass out, or just keel over. "Dean…" He stopped short of saying anything important, closing his eyes instead. He looked like he was in pain now.

"I thought… heaven was all torn up," Dean managed to say, trying to keep his mouth up with his brain. "Raphael's being a dick still, or did you finally kill the bastard?"

"I have not," Castiel said, disappointingly. He met Dean's eyes firmly, grim. "We are losing, Dean."

The living room was silent. Dean watched his friend carefully, taking in everything he was seeing.

Losing?

"What does _that_ mean?" he asked, his voice catching.

Castiel looked strained. "Raphael approached me two days ago. With a deal." The angel exhaled sharply and, with surprisingly human exasperation, he covered his face with one hand. "To end the fighting and to restore peace."

"What kind of deal?" Dean demanded, now Very Concerned. Raphael had always struck him as a shady business type. And when that business included the future of Heaven and Earth, well, it was concerning.

And as it turned out, it was. "Raphael still wants to bring about the end to mankind. There will be no peace for earth, only heaven," Castiel replied. "He has agreed not to try to open the pit and release Lucifer again, however."

Part of Dean's mind did a spectacular stumble and swan dive. "Wait, back up," he started, eyes huge. "He wants to start the apocalypse, but… his idea of a fucking deal is to _not_ open the locks on the guy who _causes_ the apocalypse?" Castiel said nothing and Dean only raised his voice as his anger grew. "What, playing God isn't fun enough for him now? He has to go pretend to be Lucifer too? !"

The angel in front of him shook his head, however. "Raphael will not be taking on that role. He still fancies himself a… savior." Castiel literally spat that last part out. "Jesse is the new threat."

Dean did his best not to leap from the couch and start swearing. He wanted to punch the shit out of something—preferably an archangel named after a fucking turtle—but he knew that wouldn't help them in the least. "But you said…" he started, but stopped. "If he's getting stronger, we can't just _kill_ him." From what he had been told about the kid, he got the impression Jesse was the Doomsday of the occult world.

Castiel shook his head. "No, we cannot," he agreed, squashing Dean's last hope. "There is no guarantee that Raphael is speaking the truth about Jesse becoming closer with demons, but if he is, there is no hope regardless. The end will come for us all."

He stopped there and suddenly seemed awkward, as if he was avoiding saying something else. Dean's eyes narrowed as he watched the angel sit there. He knew Castiel well, probably better than Castiel knew himself.

"…What aren't you saying?" Dean prompted, sitting up more.

Castiel gave him a weak look, but then looked away. "That is what Raphael wants to change," he admitted slowly. "Jesse has no equal on Earth or in the Heavenly Host."

There was another pause. Dean swallowed, his entire mouth dry. "Except…" he said, trying to goad Castiel into continuing, at the same time as praying he wouldn't.

The angel met his eyes again and Castiel answered after a short, hesitant pause:

"Heaven needs its own holy child."

The pause that followed that was because Dean's mind had effective gone, _Buh?_

Castiel waited, patient, clearly knowing Dean just as much as the man knew him.

"…Oh fuck. Fuck… me," Dean managed to say, standing slowly. Holy child? "You're not… you're not talking about…"

There was a sympathetic gleam to Castiel's eyes, but he still mercilessly said, "We will need a savior against Jesse's destruction."

Dean stared down at his friend in horror. "You have _GOT_ to be fucking with me," he began, mind on fire, a thousand things flying across his mind at once. "Y-you're telling me we're going to be seeing Jesus 2.0 walking around? _Are you fucking insane_? !"

His voice echoed across the empty house and Castiel just sat there, impassive. Dean stumbled away, gripping his head, agonized.

This couldn't be happening. It was insane. It was absolutely insane—

"Dean, I am serious," Castiel replied shortly, cutting off his mental break down. "That is what Raphael wants. It is what we would need to do to protect ourselves. All of the Host as well as Earth."

"You don't believe him about Jesse," Dean challenged. Oh, he needed a drink. Or a trashcan to throw up in.

Castiel hesitated. "I am not certain about Jesse," he admitted. "I-I will need to investigate on my own."

Dean stopped pacing and sent his friend a strained glare. "I don't see a problem, other than, you know, _Jesus the Sequel_," he snapped. "Go, find the kid, see if he's gone dark side. If he has, we'll take it from there. If he hasn't, then, screw Raphael, he's a warmongering psychopath."

"Dean, we do not have time to look for Jesse," Castiel said hurriedly.

"Why not?" the human snapped.

Castiel exhaled sharply again. "Raphael wants to fulfill the prophecy of Revelation—that of the next savior—_tonight_."

Dean blinked. "…Wait. Wait, I—I'm confused." Leaning forward, he motioned vaguely to the side, apprehension rebuilding rapidly. "He wants to go find the kid _now_?"

"No." Castiel's voice surprised Dean. The angel continued to wear a severe expression. "There is no child yet."

Dean _stared_. "He wants to make one?" he asked, stunned. "How the hell—?" Visions of Gospel bedtime stories and nativity scenes flashed by his mind. No way. No way—

"It wouldn't be unlike what happened with Jesse, Dean," Castiel answered, grim once more. "An angel and a human would be all that it takes."

Dean fought the urge to whimper. "Oh, God, I am _so_ not getting involved with this one," he breathed, whirling around. He remembered how Jesse's mother described being forced into the pregnancy by the demonic possession. Was this really the same?

For some reason, that prompted the angel on the couch to panic, just a little. "Dean, I need your help," Castiel began, getting to uneasy feet. His injuries looked healed, but his eyes were shining with tension. "I-I don't know what to do."

He knew Castiel was taking charge in Heaven, but _this_? "Why do you have anything to do with this?" Dean asked, torn between being accusing and honestly curious.

"I _cannot_ let Raphael do this," Castiel said, urgency in his voice. He stepped around the coffee table and was peering around at Dean with a frantic look. "The moment Heaven attempts to bring a counterassault to Jesse, who is to say Jesse will not hear of it? Even if he isn't raising an army right now, what do you think his reaction will be if he learns we are preparing to kill him?"

Dean pushed away from the wall, mind reeling. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

He had left hunting because of this. Because after everything else, he was finished. He was done with the supernatural. He wanted this—this nothing, this world of just plaing living. He might not have ecstatic, but it was better than waking up with the knowledge of the end of the world, or of monsters, or of something worse—

Looking up, he saw Castiel was giving him the same pleading look, as if he could fix everything with some ace up his sleeve. He was all out of those, though. In fact, Dean was sure he never had one, ever.

"Why are you looking at _me_ like that?" he exclaimed, wide eyed. "What am _I _supposed to do about this? ! What can I do to help? !" This wasn't about fighting. This was about a facet of Castiel's family's history Dean had secretly began to doubt as entirely true.

Castiel's eyes hardened. "I-I need… advice," the angel began, sounding just as unhinged as Dean suspected. "I don't know. I am running out of allies, Dean. I don't know where to turn."

Dean knew he should have felt sympathy for the guy; he sounded like shit and there was every reason in the world for him to be miserably. "I don't know either," Dean snapped instead, too anxious to spare his friend the proper empathy. "_God_, why can't we ever have normal problems?"

The frustration Castiel had reached its limits, too. The angel threw his hands up in the air, suddenly erratic. "If I submit and help Raphael to do this, my brethren will have peace!" he exclaimed. "But if I submit, Earth will be destroyed. If I refuse, Earth will be saved, perhaps, but Raphael will continue his war in Heaven without mercy." He sent the human a desperate look. "I have no answers. I do not know what to _do_."

Dean hesitated and turned around to look at the angel properly. He saw his friend standing there, shoulders sagging, looking as lost as Dean felt. Castiel hadn't come back for some sort of shoot-'em-up help, the human realized. He had just gone to the only friend he had left to talk to in his most desperate moment.

How had it come to _this_? Dean had to wonder, mind reeling.

Neither of them fit, standing in the center of a suburban home, talking about this. Dean knew he couldn't have Castiel around when Lisa and Ben came home, but honestly, he didn't feel right being there himself either.

He couldn't just drop this. This wasn't his fight. It never had been. But he had been part of the first. He had lost everything because of it—but he was still tied to it, just as Castiel was.

There was no escaping this.

"You… know who… you know…" he began, voice wavering, breaking the silence reluctantly. "The new version of the Mary chick?"

Castiel stood back, trying to regain his own composure. "Yes. They chose Deborah Garrison, from Nazareth, Ohio."

Dean scowled. "Seriously, bullshit," he muttered darkly. He ran a weary hand over his face. "You're crazy. All of you… are _insane_."

"I do not deny that accusation," Castiel replied, deadpan. "At all."

Taking in deep breaths, Dean considered their options. Like Castiel, he really couldn't think of one. Not a smart one, at least.

"…We have to, I don't know, warn this lady," he said awkwardly. Maybe if they stirred her up against it, it would at least give them more time to get Raphael to back off, somehow.

Castiel shook his head gravely. "We can't stop Raphael. Not alone."

"Then go get your friends," Dean implored. He thought that Castiel had an army. Any followers could help. They had to.

"Raphael will know I am betraying the truce at that point," the angel replied, ruining that hope. "If we are to make plans, we must do them now, Dean, but—," Castiel stopped and stared at him, utterly helpless.

There was nothing they could do.

Dean closed his eyes and then opened them. "Let's go to Nazareth," he said, regretting it, but there was no stopping the words that tumbled from his lips. "We'll think of something, Cas. We always do. Come on."

He made to walk to the front of the house, to get the Impala, but Castiel reached out to stop him. "No. Driving will take too long," he said, shaking his head. "Raphael only gave me a day to decide on an answer and that time is already up. I've been avoiding seeing him. He is most likely suspicious by now."

"Won't he notice you poofing on over where his mother-to-be is?" Dean asked. Then, he stopped, realizing what he had just said. Horror flooded his chest. "Oh, fuck, this is officially the creepiest thing your kind has _EVER_ done. Goddamn it. I mean it. This crosses a whole new line of utter _wrongness_—"

Castiel suddenly stood upright, eyes huge, startling Dean into silence.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, alarmed.

Castiel was silent for a moment longer before he looked at Dean intensely. "We must go," he said sharply. "Now."

That was a bad thing to hear. Dean watched helplessly as Castiel walked past him looking all over. "What?" Dean demanded, trying to get more than just that as an answer. "Why?"

"One of my allies just told me that Raphael is moving. He knows I came here to speak with you," Castiel replied, eyes hardened and dark. "He is going for Deborah Garrison now."

And for the baby. "Shit—!" Dean hissed, eyes wide again. They didn't have a plan, or an idea at all, on how to get out of this. Once that baby was on the playing field, and Jesse found out, they were all dead—

"Dean, will you come with me?" Castiel asked so suddenly and abruptly, Dean forgot what he had been worrying about.

He stared at his friend, letting that question wash over his mind. For a tense moment, he wanted to say no. After everything Dean had suffered through? After what had happened a little over a month ago? He never wanted to see another angel, well, any angel that posed more of a threat than a socially inept nerd with wings. Lisa needed him. Ben needed him. His place was _here_ now.

But standing there in front of this, Dean came to the slow realization he had been trying to avoid.

He could try to hide, but this would always find him. Sam wasn't the only one cursed. No matter how much he wanted peace, or just a little bit of normalcy, Dean was forced to realize the facts: he didn't belong in a world like this.

Looking over at the angel standing there in his living room, Dean knew, reluctantly, that his place belonged on that battlefield more than it did here.

It wasn't fair, but it was the truth.

"Let's go," Dean said numbly, before he had the chance to regret anything. There would be time for regret later.

The unspoken plea melted into silent thanks. A small smile appeared on Castiel's face and he reached out to grab the human—and then they were gone.

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**To Be Continued in**_** The Beginning, Part Two.**_

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	3. The Beginning: Part Two

_**Revelations**_**  
The Beginning: Part Two**  
By Nan00k

As continued from _Part One_. :)

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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_**4:37 PM  
Nazareth, Ohio**_

Dean had expected to be like finding a needle in a haystack—rather, a holy vessel of the Lord in a town full of Christian fundamentalists. For once, luck seemed to be on their side for once, as Nazareth, Ohio was far from a fundamentalist town (more like Classic American Pie with a dash of Christian undertones thrown in). Also, Castiel seemed to know where to go to find their target. Dean hoped that everything else would be just as easy.

"She a nun or something?" he asked, glancing around nervously as they walked briskly down a street full of parked cars, but the people were all congregating further ahead, outside a church.

"Daughter of a preacher," Castiel answered, gruff. He wasn't looking around erratically for some sort of sign, so he probably knew exactly what he was looking for. "Come on."

"Do you know what she looks like?" Dean asked, glancing around anyway. The lady wasn't even pregnant yet, so he couldn't tell one woman from the next.

He sincerely hoped they were dealing with a woman-woman, and not some fourteen year old in a biblical sense. Otherwise, he would seriously have to hunt Raphael and smite the bastard himself.

"Vaguely," Castiel said absently. He turned at the entrance of that church's parking lot, looking around now. They were close apparently. "She's twenty-three, brown hair—_wait_."

The angel stopped and Dean looked up where he was staring. Ahead, there was a woman greeting the last of the churchgoers heading into the small chapel, smiling politely at the guests. She had to be in her young twenties, with wavy brown hair, and wasn't too bad looking, but Dean knew now wasn't the time. Castiel made a beeline for the lady, and Dean thought absently, _Here we go._

"Deborah Garrison?" Castiel began, without prompt or hesitance. He was all business now. Dean didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

Deborah looked up at his voice, her eyes becoming uncertain as she tried to place a name to Castiel and Dean's faces, but failed. "Uh—hello," she started, smiling anyway. "Are you new to our church?"

She seemed absolutely normal. Most of their clients did, however. Dean knew they didn't have the luxury to walk into this one as they usual did, with false I.D.s and longwinded explanations to avoid telling the truth. Right now, the truth was the only option.

But not in front of an open church, however. Mass was about to start. Dean glanced at Castiel, before turning back to their unfortunate victim.

"Miss Garrison, you need to come with us, right now," he said, pulling out his Seriously Concerned Law Enforcement voice. He stopped himself, however, because he knew posing as a cop wouldn't work. It would only cause more problems later. They needed to let the woman know the truth, as quickly as possible.

That, of course, was harder than it sounded. Deborah's polite expression had rapidly faded into a look of wariness. "Wh-why?" she exclaimed, glancing between them quickly. "Who are you?"

Dean hted this part. So much. "My name's Dean Winchester, and this is Castiel," he said, speaking carefully, gesturing at himself and Castiel both, hoping to show them as harmless. "I need you to believe me when I say, you _need_ to come with us, _right_ now."

The truth was never accepted as quickly as a lie. "Why?" Deborah demanded, now far more alarmed.

Exasperated, Dean decided to go for a general concern. "Your life is in danger," he replied. Mild exaggeration, but it had the same effect as saying, _There Are Some Angels Coming After You For Booty Call_.

"What are you talking about?" Deborah asked, shocked. She brought the church pamphlets she was holding closer to her chest, looking more and more ready to book it inside the church. "I don't know you."

"Yeah, but we know you," Dean replied, speaking quickly. "Come on, lady, please. Have you—have you ever experienced anything weird? Cold spots, headaches, visions, flashes of light—?"

Castiel suddenly moved forward, demanding Deborah's attention. "Have you ever seen an angel?" he asked, with all the seriousness Dean remembered the angel had.

Deborah stared at Castiel, her eyes slowly narrowing. "…Who…" she began, but stopped herself. Drawing away, she shook her head. "What is wrong with you?"

Okay, this was rapidly becoming one of his worst first greetings. Dean vowed never to take a month off hunting, ever again, if he got this rusty that quickly. "We don't have time, lady!" he snapped, getting her attention. "There are angels headed this way, okay? They're going to be coming for you, and for nothing good."

"You're insane," Deborah said, shaking her head. She started to back away. "Get away from me."

Inhaling sharply, Dean looked over at Castiel, who was beginning to look just as impatient as he felt. "We don't have time for this!" he exclaimed. They had to haul ass, now. "Cas! Show her!"

Deborah flinched and Castiel looked hesitant at the command. Dean knew that whipping out the angel mojo could scare the crap out of someone who wasn't in on the whole angels-exist thing, but it would certainly make the lady a believer.

"Show me what?" she demanded, hostile.

Pointing at Cas, Dean glared at her. "_He_ is an angel—a real, honest-to-God angel. And he can _prove_ it."

Now it was Castiel's turn to be the pain in the ass. "I can't show myself to her, I would kill both of you," the angel replied, frowning at Dean's suggestion. Deborah only looked more confused.

"Then do the light-show you showed me!" Dean insisted, glancing at Deborah, who suddenly looked strangely… apprehensive. Dean turned to her, hating to beg. "If you want proof, step around to the side of the church so he can show you. Just real quick. If nothing happens, walk back in, we won't stop you."

Dean almost smiled when he saw doubt flicker for the first time in Deborah's eyes. "I…"

Going on hunter's intuition, Dean pressed on. "You saw something, didn't you?" he challenged, moving closer. Deborah didn't say anything, but the way her eyes shone told Dean he was onto something. "You saw something strange and you don't have an explanation for it, so you just said it was crazy. It's _not_ crazy, lady."

The woman hesitated and Dean knew he had hit something for her. Maybe she had thought whatever she had seen was a trick of the eye, but he knew from experience that people only needed a little outside prompting to rethink that assessment after witnessing something paranormal.

"Please," Castiel added, urgent. His eyes were gleaming with intensity. "Let me show you proof."

How they got her to follow them to the side of the driveway that wasn't in full view of the doors of the church, Dean didn't know. She trailed behind slowly as Castiel quickly marched to where he thought was safe. Deborah stopped short of leaving the grassy side, and when Dean turned on the gravel to look at her, he saw she was ready to leave again. Castiel only went a bit further, giving them space. The angel inclined his head toward the suspicious woman, and then, things happened.

Not big things; just the gathering of instant storm clouds. Thunder cracked. The wind picked up abruptly and stray leaves shot through the air. Dean winced as the once-hot air turned cold as it stung his eyes. Deborah had been standing firmly seconds before—but now? Dean saw that doubt in her eyes grow… and grow. The single storm only hovered over them in that tiny driveway. It was clearly not an incidental thing.

The little bit of light left shone beyond Castiel. Dean caught Deborah's wide eyes and then pointed behind her. Turning slowly, she looked up at the wall of the church where a gigantic shadow had formed—one of giant wings.

Deborah turned back around as the wind died and she stared at Castiel with an eerily familiar look of shock. The angel just stood there with narrowed eyes.

It was never funny, that face. Every person Dean had had to give the big reveal to had the same expression. It could have been humorous to someone on the outside—the astonishment, the fear, the _horror_—but in the end, it was never funny to Dean. Because he was the one to cause that face. He had shattered the illusion for them. It wasn't funny, at all.

"Holy mother of God," Deborah whimpered. She looked like she wanted to stumble away from both of them, but didn't have the strength.

"Kid, don't be saying that just yet," Dean said, weary. He shook his head. This was so wrong.

Castiel, if he had doubts and Dean knew he did, didn't hesitate. "My name is Castiel and I am an angel of the Lord," he said, his voice strangely loud. "We do not have time to wait here, Deborah Garrison. We must go."

Deborah looked ready to hurl. "Wh-why?" she demanded, voice hitching. "What do you want with _me_?" She suddenly paused, alarmed. "You were at the church yesterday? That—that shadow?"

Dean didn't know anything about a shadow, but that wasn't important right now. "_We_ don't want anything, but there are some big players who do," he answered, frustrated. "Raphael, another angel, he wants to turn you into Mary. Like Mary, mother of God Mary."

Perhaps that could have been phrased better. Castiel sent him a stern look and Deborah paled another color.

"…What?" she asked. Yeah, Dean knew that look. _A look of, Please, God Let This Be A Nightmare_.

It never was, he thought darkly.

Castiel seemed intent on taking the reigns. "The second coming is upon us," he began, voice grave. "Some in Heaven want to start the apocalypse again and end Earth and humanity with the battle between the Anti-Christ and the next savior." He hesitated and gave Deborah a rather strange look. "Hell already has its Cambion. We need our savior."

Most people they talked to knew very little about Revelation or about prophecy. Dean hadn't been expecting an easy explanation, but thankfully, it appeared Deborah was either quick on the uptake, or just up-to-date with her biblical studies.

"…Oh… no… you… you're…" she stuttered, eyes huge and shining. Dean didn't miss how her hands almost reluctantly reached down and circled her stomach.

Oh, _man_, this was rapidly becoming his absolutely least favorite job. This felt wrong, all over.

Castiel was almost shaking with emotion. Dean hadn't seen him that unhinged since he had first defied heaven back in the Green Room for Dean. "We must not let this happen. Not again. Earth's time is not up. This is all Raphael's doing." Taking a sharp breath, Castiel's face darkened. "But I cannot stop him."

Deborah didn't say anything at first, looking at Castiel, and then over at Dean. When neither said anything, the young woman nodded slowly. "But…" she began, uncertain, "if this is God's will—"

Her hesitant acceptance was immediately cut off by Castiel. If Dean hadn't known any better, he would have thought the angel had become human again, because the last time Dean had seen him react as angrily as he had, he had been beating the shit out of Dean in an alleyway. That wasn't good.

"THIS IS _NOT_ GOD'S WILL!" Castiel shouted. He didn't just shout-shout. No, his Voice bled out into his normal voice, shaking the glass on the chapel's side wall, and giving Dean a real kick to the head. "_None_ of this was! Our Father never wanted this! I refuse to believe it!"

Ooookay, that was enough of that. Dean reached out, grabbing his friend by the arm, startling him. "Cas! Tone it down, man," he snapped. Looking up, Deborah effectively had a look he had dubbed the _Touched by a Douchenozzle Angel_ look; it was all fear and all pathetic. "Cripes… Deborah? Look at me. We're going to get you out of here." He looked up at Castiel, an idea striking him. "Can you give her that thing, the chest thing, Cas? So angels can't find her?"

Castiel, still angry, pursed his lips. "Yes, but if I attempt to move you, they can track me," he said finally.

That was the last thing they needed. Dean was not about to be doing this by himself. He doubted Deborah would go willingly without the proven angel either.

"Shit…" he muttered. Looking around, he saw the line of cars in front of the church. "Then… we drive." He turned back to Deborah, severe. "Come on. You have a car?"

Deborah stumbled after him as Dean began to walk toward the parking lot. "My dad's car…" she started to say. She sounded even more alarmed. "Wait, where are we going? And what are we running _from_? !"

Giving the angels-exist-crash-course was never fun. "Raphael is an angel, okay?" Dean explained, glancing at her as they walked toward the cars. "He's not some feathery helper of God. Take all the good stuff you've heard about those fuckers and forget about it, you hear me? They're trying to destroy the world, at least everyone on Raphael's side. Castiel's side—we're trying to stop the apocalypse—again."

"_Again_—? !" Deborah repeated loudly.

Dean cut her off as she took the lead, headed for a blue hatchback. Ugh. He missed his baby. "And if you said yes to Raphael—and he _will_ get you to say yes, or else—you're not going to be saving anyone, okay?" he immediately said. He didn't trust her not to take this as some religious destiny. They didn't have the time to prove to her that giving up anything for those bastards was a waste of time. "It's going to jump start the end of everything. Your mom, your dad, your life, billions of lives—it's going to be _over_, Deborah."

"But…" Deborah stuttered. She stopped, hands on the door of the car, and gave Dean a concerned look. For a second, Dean thought she was going to go on a spiel about wanting to be a part of God's plans, or some other bullshit, but mercifully, the woman suddenly looked vaguely sick. "What are we going to _do_ then?"

At least some people still thought the idea of "apocalypse" was a bad thing. Dean sighed gustily. "I have no idea," he admitted. Castiel didn't say anything and only stood there grimly, not helping in the least. "Come on. We need space between them and us, first of all. They're going to be on our asses any minute."

It took some convincing to get Deborah to drive with them anywhere, and even more convincing to let them drive her off somewhere without letting her parents know. The moment she finally caved and said yes, Castiel pulled some stunt and they were instantly in the car, Deborah in the back and Dean at the wheel. Ignoring the stunned civilian in the back, Dean decided to just fuck everything and go.

They only got onto the road for ten seconds before Castiel turned around in the passenger seat and reached back at Deborah.

"Hold still, please," he said without preamble. Before Deborah could even say anything, he had his hand on her collarbone and—

"What—_ow_!" she yelled, flinching backwards, hands going up to her chest. Dean glanced back and knew what happened.

"He branded you with a spell, to keep Raphael from finding you," he explained, trying to keep eye contact with her as well as the road. They needed to get the hell out of that town, _now_. "They can't find us humans who have it on them, but they can find Cas if we're not careful."

Castiel nodded, grim. "I should leave you," he said. Deborah only gaped at him, as if he had punched a hole through her instead of just placed a spell.

At that, Dean shot him a _look_, panic rushing through him. "We need to come up with a plan, man," he said, hoping the angel wouldn't just ditch him now. Separating with an archangel on your ass was just suicide, as they had learned in the past. "You said it yourself, we can't just outrun this guy. He's going to find you, and if he doesn't get you to talk, he's going to _kill_ you."

Castiel didn't say anything, so he probably agreed. The angel just sat there, completely out of place in the passenger seat, and stared out at nothing. Dean gripped the steering wheel, suddenly feeling trapped.

They just had to keep driving. Something could come to them.

"…Why is this happening?" Deborah suddenly whispered.

That had a complicated answer. "Because we stopped Lucifer and Michael from fighting. We stopped the end of the world," Dean answered. He didn't even think to censor anything. The truth probably was the only weapon they had right now, to make sure if Deborah did wind up with their enemies, she'd know what she was up against. "Raphael thinks just because God ran off without leaving the rest of us an instruction manual, in _His_ own words, he can just wipe the slate clean."

Deborah shook her head, baffled. "Why? And how?"

"There's already an Antichrist." Deborah flinched back in shock. Dean kept going. "Thing is, if we leave him alone, he'll stay neutral. But the moment we pull a dick move and try to bring our own nukes onto the playing field—well, you can bet it won't take much to convince a thirteen year old with godly powers to react in defense. He'll kill everyone just out of fear of being attacked himself by Heaven's super-powerful god-child."

"Where is God then?" Deborah asked, desperate. Dean knew what she was thinking; surely, the Big Guy would fix things, if an angel were real.

Too bad that wasn't the case.

"Not here," he growled. Castiel said nothing as the car rolled its way out of town. Deborah just looked down at the floor of the car, stunned.

They didn't say anything for several minutes. Dean wanted to punch something—really bad. But there wasn't time to freak out.

Deciding to take the little time they had, Dean looked up at the rear view mirror and caught Deborah's attention. "So," he began stiffly. "You want to know about Raphael?"

Deborah stared at him in the mirror, stricken, but listening.

"Fine," he said, steeling his heart, exhaling sharply. "Let me tell you what we've been doing for the last two years."

This wasn't going to be pretty.

**0000**

_**Shores of Galilee**_

_When calamity comes, the wicked are brought down, but even in death the righteous seek refuge in God._

His was no death. There was no refuge and no mercy. Just… nothingness. Humans had it easy. They had something to go to, heaven, after death.

An angel had nothingness. A reunion with the spirit they had never met.

He wasn't very upset when that nothingness suddenly and abruptly… ended.

Gabriel lived.

Awakened on the beaches of the land he had once visited two thousand years previous, Gabriel considered the situation. He had been dead, he was pretty sure. Last thing he recalled was getting a gut full of metal, courtesy of his big brother, _numero dos_. After that… nothing. It was like he had opened his eyes after blinking and he was just in a different place.

But this place? It was too specific. Too… planned. Gabriel walked along the shoreline, taking in everything. The seasons were different. And the world was still standing. Unless he had been brought back before the fight, or it had already happened and something had gone… right, for once.

Winchesters. He bet those bastards were behind it.

Gabriel was compelled not to fly off and find them, however. Something had brought him back and in a world like theirs, he was sure it was for a reason.

When he finally felt a tickle of… something… run through his Grace, Gabriel stopped walking. He looked out at the waters, humans strangely absent from the scene. The sun was just rising over the glistening sea and he basked in the light.

"What are you planning, you son of a bitch," he said to the air. He kept his fists firmly in his pockets, because if he didn't, he was sure he was going to start shaking. He wasn't scared. He wasn't.

_Find Castiel._

Gabriel turned to face the sky, grinning, hiding his trembling Grace. "Why should I?" he challenged.

There were no words needed, not for this. Gabriel took it and understood—everything.

Perhaps with one plan in ruins, a second one would have to do.

Gabriel unfurled his wings and took to the sky, seeking out the one brother he had left that he knew—from sources he dared not to question—he still had reason to support.

_Father help us all._

**0000**

_**Ohio  
6:12 PM**_

Summarizing his last two years of life (time in Hell not included) hadn't been too difficult, at least for him. They were the facts of life for Dean. For outsiders like Deborah, it had opened a Pandora's box of things they really never wanted to hear.

"You're lying," she said, clearly trying not to cry. They were on the back roads again, thankfully, but there was only darkness and a few scattered street lamps out now. "G-God's here. He's not dead."

"I don't think he's _dead_ as much as just in recluse," Castiel replied, sullen and apathetic as ever. "We cannot expect help from him now."

"What do we do then? !" she exclaimed. She looked like she couldn't decide whether or not to be scared or just exasperated. To be honest, she wasn't taking it that badly. Except for the whole your-faith-is-a-lie thing. The part about her being the next mother of the Holy Child threw her pretty badly too.

"I don't know," Dean answered. He drummed his hands nervously on the steering wheel of the alien car, not for the first time wishing he was in his own Impala, which was back in Indiana. "Fuck. We can try to run. Get some space between us… catch our breaths and just… think about it."

That was a shitty plan, but it was better than just lying down and preparing to die. Or get knocked up, in Deborah's case. Castiel told him repeatedly it wasn't like demonic possession; for angels, they needed consent for everything. Dean remembered that much. Just like Jesse's mother, Deborah would have been temporarily made a vessel and then, _boom_, Jesus, Jr.

He was sincerely glad they had gotten to Deborah first, however. She probably would have seen being "chosen" to have the next Savior as a blessed thing. Now, she looked ready to throw up. He had tossed back a stray jacket he found in the front seat once it started to get chillier, but she just held it in her lap, looking utterly lost.

"Someone is calling for me," Castiel suddenly announced, breaking the silence sharply.

Dean shot him a look. "Who?" he asked, a hundred worries rising in his mind. "Shit, you guys don't do mind-GPS, do you? I thought you were hiding your Grace." There was no guarantee on that, either, but Raphael's lackies hadn't descended down on them yet.

Castiel frowned deeply. "To a degree, yes," the angel said. He paused and looked confused. "It is… impossible."

That didn't sound good. "Who?" Dean asked, his stomach in knots. He tried to focus on driving them safely on the empty road, but he stole glances at his friend repeatedly as he waited for an answer.

The angel paused before stating bluntly, "Gabriel."

Dean didn't even blink. "Bullshit," he said. "He's dead." Castiel had confirmed it himself, finding the remains of the archangel back at that hotel after Lucifer's massacre. It had been a huge blow to their plans; if they had had the archangel on their side at the end… who knew what could have happened?

"Yes," Castiel said, but he seemed uneasy by something. "But he has been resurrected, he claims. He wants to know where I am to meet us."

As if _that_ didn't scream _It's a Traaaap_. "Can Raphael fake that?" Dean demanded, giving him another quick look. "You know, pretending to be another angel?" He didn't think Gabriel, if it was him, would turn them in, but a lot had changed.

Castiel shook his head. "No. I can feel Gabriel. It is him."

Grimacing, Dean glared daggers at the road in front of them. It was slowly becoming total back roads. "Great. Just perfect." Exhaling sharply, he shook his head at Castiel. "Don't answer him. Raphael might be trying to trap us."

"I know," Castiel said quietly. He stopped and then, even softer, said, "I am sorry, Dean."

That gave Dean a pause. "For what?" he asked, looking at his friend in surprise.

Castiel looked over at him, eyes dark. "You wanted out of this life," he explained. "I dragged you into it again."

Dean couldn't deny he was frustrated to be on a road driving away from Armageddon again, but it wasn't as if this were Castiel's fault. "What the hell were you going to do? Do this alone?" he shot back. "Hell no, man." Whether any of them liked it, when it came to Heaven and Hell… it was practically Dean's job to stick his neck out to fix the mess they made. He refused to call it destiny, but it sure was consistent.

"You do not want this life," Castiel observed. Dean didn't know if he should have felt nostalgic from the Captain Fucking Obvious routine.

"I don't want a lot of things, Cas," Dean grit out. Hunting, his father dead, his brother dead… They couldn't just stop there, though. "We drive. We drive until we can't and we have to fight."

And then die a horrible death most likely. Or, if they were really unlucky, they'd live long enough to see Raphael's plans through and watch the world be blown to smithereens.

Leaning back in his seat for the first time, Castiel closed his eyes, as if suddenly overburdened. "I am sorry, Deborah," he said. He sounded entirely apologetic. It reminded Dean of worse times and it made his stomach churn.

"I just want to go _home_," Deborah whimpered, burying her face into the jacket, breathing heavily. Dean grimaced, but focused on the road.

It was getting darker and they still had nothing to go on except drive. Castiel was unnaturally still and quiet, most likely thinking or focusing on hiding himself from Raphael's henchmen. Deborah wasn't saying much either, so Dean let her stew in the facts. It was cruel to dump that Pandora's Box in her lap, but honestly, no one had the luxury of hiding from the truth.

Castiel suddenly spoke up. "We probably have only an hour at best before they find us," he said quietly, belaying the severity of that comment.

An hour. Dean shook his head, scowling. "What the hell can we even do, Cas?" he demanded. There had to be an answer to that. Castiel had to have a plan. He just—had to. "You said it yourself, we can't fight this son of a bitch." Sammy had been the one with the plans. Dean knew his general run-at-them-with-guns plan would epically fail here.

"No, not here," Castiel replied, shaking his head grimly. "And I am certain that if I leave you to gather my supporters in Heaven, Raphael will kill you both regardless."

Dean shot him a look, alarmed. "Both of us?" he repeated, alarmed, looking up at the rearview to look at their hapless charge. "Don't they need her for their creepy ass raped-by-an-angel rituals or some shit?" No, no, he was not going to let someone else die for those goddamn _monsters_ that called themselves the servants of _God_.

"If she does not consent to their plans—," Castiel began.

"Like _hell_ I will!" Deborah suddenly screamed, tearing her face away from the jacket long enough to send both men in the front of the car a hysterical glare.

"—they will kill her," Castiel finished, glancing at Deborah hesitantly before continuing, staring only at Dean. "She would be of no use, other than to be left for demons to find. They will not allow that risk. Another vessel could always be found at a later time."

Crying now, Deborah buried her face into the denim fabric. "Oh, God. Oh, God," she whimpered. Dean clenched the steering wheel; again, the unwarranted terror, striking another unfortunate soul… all because of the creatures more than half of humanity prayed to for mercy.

"I'd sure really like it if that guy were involved, 'cause at least then I could have someone new to blame for this bullshit," he snapped, focusing on the road and fighting the urge to just drive them into the guard rails to just end it right there. "_Jesus Christ_—why can't those idiots just—just—leave Earth alone?"

What a pitiful thought. Dean took several deep breaths, desperately trying to calm down, if not for his sake, but for the other two passengers. Deborah had grown quiet and Castiel just stared out into the front window, eyes out of focus. Dean glanced at his friend, the chill in his gut never fading. "Cas… you gotta have a plan," he began, trying not to sound as weak as he felt. "We can't let this happen. Not again."

The angel looked back at him, sympathy and fear in his vibrant eyes. "Dean…" he started to say, but he stopped. Castiel looked down, haunted.

He knew just as much as Dean did—about how wrong this was, and how much was being threatened here. There was no escape. There hadn't been one before. Dean's heart stung as much as his eyes did, as he recalled how his brother jumped into the hole, sentencing himself to eternal damnation to stop the end. The end was coming again—and for what? Had Sam's demise meant nothing? There was no pit to jump into now. Only another innocent life to be ruined and month-old wounds to be lashed open again.

Dean would not survive that. Not again.

"We can't let him win. We've—we've already lost everything else," he pleaded. Castiel looked up at him, but Dean knew he was just as helpless. Trembling, Dean shook his head, not sure if it was resolve or fear that made him shake. "We can't let him win."

Castiel said nothing. He just stared, looking broken and tired, as if he had once again fallen. Dean turned to the road, the asphalt and white and yellow lines disappearing into oblivious behind them.

Maybe letting the world end wouldn't be bad. They were already past their expiration date. Maybe it would be okay to just… let go.

Choking on grief, Dean prayed it would be okay.

_I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry everything had been for nothing. All of your pain, all of my pain, all of the sacrifices we've made—_

For nothing. It was just going to end anyway.

Castiel shifted and Dean glanced up to see the angel looking at him again. There was more than just the tired grief in his eyes, however. There was an emotion there that surprised Dean.

Castiel's jaw tensed, eyes sharper than before.

"We have one last option," he said suddenly, shattering the intense silence.

Dean had no idea how to answer that. "What is it?" Deborah asked, breath shaky, sitting closer.

The angel looked at her with the same fierce look. "You will not like it," he told her. Turning back to Dean, Castiel raised his head, just slightly. "_I_… do not like it."

Dean didn't like that look on his face. It didn't suit the man he had grown to know as a weary, but kind soldier. "Cas?" he asked, wary. He slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the road. The car stilled and the three were left in a cold silence.

Castiel had a plan. A plan meant a lot of things. They could die, or be smote, or dragged to hell, or tortured or just obliterated into the nothings they actually were. It might work, or might not. It could be success, or terrible failure… or something horribly in between like last time.

But… they would be trying. Dean took another breath, realizing he had been holding it that whole time.

Sam's death would not be pointless. Not as long… as they tried.

"I am going to answer Gabriel and bring him here," Castiel announced. "We have less than an hour to do this."

Dean looked at the angel and then back at Deborah, who stared back with wide, terrified eyes. Slowly, the last Winchester met Castiel's eyes and saw the pitiful blue gleam back through the darkness between them.

They had no choice but to _try_.

"Okay."

**0000**

_**7:04 PM**_

Dean wasn't surprised when he heard the fluttering of multiple wings, and he certainly wasn't surprised when he saw Raphael stalking toward them across the empty stretch of road with two of his soldiers behind him. Between Gabriel standing behind him and Castiel on the ground in front of them, Dean knew they must have been easy to find.

Gabriel said nothing, only smirked, as Raphael approached. Castiel was slower to react, however, but he was a little busy. Leaning up over top of Deborah, the last of Castiel's Grace flowed away from her face and back into his own vessel. When the glowing subsided, Castiel gave his approaching superior a look Dean could identify as hatred.

Good.

"Castiel," Raphael began, warningly.

"It is done," Castiel shot back immediately. He stood up proper, not bending an inch in the presence of his rival. "You have your holy child, to confront the half-breed." A shadow fell over his eyes. "Our deal is completed, Raphael."

As if this had been a _business_ transaction. Raphael's expression gave nothing away as he looked down from Castiel and gazed down on Deborah, who still looked out of it and was breathing heavily. Dean could imagine having angelic Grace being stuffed down your throat being quite the burden. He personally felt ready to throw up.

"…So it is," Raphael said, apparently accepting whatever he was seeing in the woman. Dean swallowed hard; apparently, it had worked then. Deborah was going to be a mother. Suddenly, Raphael flinched, looking beyond Dean. "_Gabriel_?"

Dean turned and saw the other missing archangel saunter up around Castiel, looking mighty smug. "Heeeey there, brother dearest," the shorter angel said, holding up spread arms cheekily. "Miss me?"

Apparently news of his death had reached the other angel, or at least, Raphael was just surprised to see his AWOL brother. "How—?" the other archangel began, flustered, but surprisingly, not angry.

"What, you think Cassy gets to be the favorite of the family all the time?" Gabriel interrupted, jerking his head over at Castiel. Gabriel seemed far too pleasant for the situation. "I guess the Big Guy still has plans for me after all."

"Why are you here?" Raphael demanded, now giving Dean and Castiel a suspicious look. Dean was distracted when he saw Deborah trying to stand, so he moved to help her, lifting her _carefully_. She stepped backwards and he let her go; she didn't want to be touched now.

Gabriel laughed heartily. "Thought the little bro and his blushing bride might need some help with, ya know, the exchange." He waggled his eyebrows, the epitome of _asshole_ at the moment. "I _was_ there at the first one, you know." Dean really didn't want to know the implications of that.

Raphael stared at him, wary. "…So you were," he finally conceded. His eyes when to Deborah as she turned around, looking speechless. Raphael nodded at her, all ceremony. "Rise, daughter of Eve. You have brought salvation this night with your choice."

Something snapped in Deborah's eyes. Stumbling backwards further toward their car, covering herself more with her hands, she snarled up at the assortment of angels. "My _choice_? _SCREW YOU_!" she yelled, eyes wide with pain and grief. "Y-you're not angels! You're monsters! If I hadn't said yes, you would have killed all of us!"

The dark-skinned bastard had the nerve to look shocked by Deborah's angry declaration. "She's got a point, Raphy," Gabriel added, chuckling. The only reason Dean didn't get angry about him laughing was because of the suddenly dark look in the archangel's eyes. Gabriel was just as in on their plans as they were.

"Silence," Raphael snapped, irritable now. "Heaven will have its peace, as will Earth."

A snarl lurked somewhere in Dean's chest. He was done standing silently on the sidelines. His turn. "Yeah… an apocalypse, all over again," he said, sarcasm catching the angel's attentions. "How peaceful."

Raphael's eyes got even colder, if possible. "Dean Winchester… I am beginning to tire of seeing your face," he said, voice like ice. Dean glared back, not intimidated.

"Well, get used to it," the human snapped. "I ain't leaving this one. No way." Even though he was silent, Dean knew Castiel would back him up. Gabriel might even if he really was serious about this.

They all had their part in this, after all.

"It is not your place," Raphael shot back in anger, not realizing how wrong he was.

Dean decided to keep up the arrogant tone. "Anytime one of you winged nutjobs does something down here, it's my place," he said, crossing his arms, daring the angel mentally to say different.

Raphael's glare was almost as tactile as a laser beam. Dean was suddenly very glad their team had their own archangel… for once. Instead of continuing the argument, Raphael turned back to Castiel, accusing. "You hid her from us. Why?"

"It was from demons," Castiel lied immediately, nodding his head respectfully, though there was an edge to his voice and gaze. "There were some nearby, so we dispersed them and I gave Deborah the seal to protect her from future attacks."

"There is no need for such a thing," Raphael shot back, as if the idea of Castiel taking matters into his own hands was more detrimental than protecting against demon attacks.

Dean was pleased to note Castiel had either taken lessons on being a manipulative bastard, or had just paid close attention to Dean from their previous trips together. "On the contrary," Castiel began pointedly, "we will need every bit of our power to protect her, if your fears of Jesse are correct. He will find her and kill her to kill the child."

Oh, yeah, that was solid. Raphael glared at Castiel, but said nothing. Dean glanced over and saw Gabriel was still smiling, not revealing a thing.

"…You have a point," Raphael said after a long moment of glaring.

Castiel kept going. "Dean has suggested a place to lodge her, as well, since she is against going home, putting her family in danger," he said. He wasn't looking at Deborah, however; Dean didn't blame him. "Bobby Singer's home is in an obscure area. Perfectly safe to guard and to live in for her. There won't be any problems there."

Those were logical and pretty sound suggestions to Dean. He had helped come up with them, so of course he agreed. Bobby wasn't in the loop yet, but once they gave him the details, Dean was sure the older hunter wouldn't mind. They needed Deborah where they wanted her, not where Raphael planned. They needed to keep the ball in their court, after all.

Raphael's suspicions did not die down. "Why are you suddenly complying?" he demanded, giving Castiel a judging look. There was, at least a little bit, a bit of apprehensive hope in his voice, however, like he wanted to believe it would be that easy.

"_Perhaps_ I see your point in this, Raphael," Castiel replied evenly, unimpressed. He played the passive-aggressive role all too well. "Even if I disagree with destroying this world, Jesse Turner, if he truly has turned to an evil nature, is a threat. It must be handled."

Apparently underestimating how human his angelic brother was, Raphael smirked. "It is good to see there is at least some rational sense left in you," he said, sounding smug. Dean relaxed slightly; the war was most likely going to be over now. One mess down…

"My brothers…" Raphael suddenly said, "we must rebuild what we have left after Michael. Gabriel, you must help."

"Uhhh, no." Gabriel crossed his arms, again cheeky. "I think I'll pass."

Dean felt unease rise up in his gut, as it fell to Gabriel now to uphold his part of this. He couldn't bring himself to trust the angel completely not to mess it up on purpose or just for his own amusement. To his relief, and probably to Castiel's, Gabriel kept to the script.

"What?" Raphael demanded sharply, now alarmed.

Gabriel ignored his older brother's shout. "You see, I already picked myself a nice little job right here," he replied smoothly, unimpressed as he gestured to himself. "Holy Babysitter, remember?"

Raphael glared, suspicion rising in his expression. "That is a gross understatement of your skills—," he began heatedly.

"Not what you all said last time," Gabriel countered with more effort than Dean was expecting. Gabriel pointed at Deborah, looked ready to fade into the side of the car. "This kid is going to save everything, Raphael. If it doesn't deserve an archangel on its shoulders, what does?"

"I agree," Dean added, helping the shorter man along. "He might be an ass, but he'll be more than a good deterrent for any cocky demons trying to take a swipe at either Deborah or the baby."

That was probably the sanest and most solid excuse they had for this part of the arrangement. Raphael stared at Gabriel with narrowed eyes, mulling over the words.

"It is strange you would jump up so quickly to this role, Gabriel," he said carefully, a threat somewhere inside his tone.

Scoffing, Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Hey, I was brought back and this is suddenly happening? Helllllo. Obviously, this was supposed to happen," he replied. "We got this one in the _bag_, baby."

Raphael said nothing about the implication God had brought Gabriel back—the answer had been as vague as Castiel's resurrection had been—considering the archangel had repeatedly said that God was dead. Maybe all of the dead angels springing back to life was beginning to wear on Raphael's faith in a godless world. Dean hoped it kept him up at night.

The tension on that road only grew as the two groups just stared at each other, waiting for, well, something. Dean glanced around and saw Deborah leaning against her father's car, looking haunted. They had to get her back home, at least for tonight.

"I dunno about you guys, but I'm excited," Gabriel suddenly announced, deciding to break that awkward silence. He grinned out at the weary faces. "_I'm_ going to be an uncle!"

Dean snarled, waving his hand in frustration at the chuckling trickster. "Get the hell out of here, Gabriel." They didn't need him around now, not unless Raphael got too nosy. With their luck, that could be anytime, he thought reluctantly.

Gabriel just chuckled. "_Adios_," he said grandly, leering at them before disappearing with a snap of the fingers. Apparently, habits died hard.

That left the rest of them standing there, however. Dean had never felt more awkward or out of place.

"We shall take Deborah back to her home, to gather her things," Castiel announced, catching Raphael's eyes. "If we are going to do this, Raphael, I want this done properly and right." And that meant not just dumping the woman in a new house immediately. Dean refused to do that to her. They'd give her a few days and then figure out how to do this with the least amount of damages.

Deborah just closed her eyes, exhausted.

"You expect anything less from me, brother?" Raphael asked with a sneer.

"I don't know what to expect from you, Raphael," Castiel replied, coldly. He turned his back on the other angel, expression darker now. "Let's go, Dean."

Dean turned around to help Deborah back into the Hatchback and he heard the fluttering of wings. Raphael either trusted them, or more likely, was more comfortable with watching them from afar to make sure there wasn't a trick in play. They had to move very carefully.

"I need to return to Heaven… to make sure he keeps to his part of the deal," Castiel said quietly, looking up at Dean. The forest on either side of the road was deathly silent.

Dean looked up at his friend and nodded, grim. "I just hope to God this works, Cas."

"It had better." He looked over at the car, where the shivering young woman in side was doing her best to look at everything but them. A shadow crossed over Castiel's face. "For everyone's sake."

Walking around to the driver's side, Dean didn't reply to that. He drove Deborah home, reluctant to leave her to talk to her parents alone, but she said she'd be okay. From her tight voice and shaking limbs, Dean didn't believe her, but he let her go. Castiel left to get the Impala for him and then vanished off to Heaven to finish a war.

That night, when he pulled into a motel parking lot for the first time in what seemed like ages, Dean did something he hadn't done in a long time:

He bent his head and prayed.

.

* * *

**End **_**The Beginning: Part Two**_

**Next: **_**Week One**_

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**A/Ns**:  
-Yes, this was long, but for this story, each chapter is a "Week" so yeah, they're going to be long. Consider them to be episodes.  
-And before any of you ask, _What happened?, _please note that the mystery is the whole point of this story. ;) You'll find out what exactly happened when Raphael does. That won't happen for a while, so enjoy ten months of mysterious build up, y'all.


	4. Week 1

_**Revelations**_**  
Week One**  
By Nan00k

Yikes, tough crowd. XD If you're enjoying the story, please, I'd love to hear your feedback, for the good and the bad!

The awkward morning after, so to speak, occurs, and Bobby is mad. The chase is on!

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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_**Three Days Later  
Nazareth, Ohio**_

August was an ugly month. It was too humid and buggy. Dean didn't mind the heat as much as he hated the damn humidity. Ohio wasn't any worse than other states, but it was still disgusting standing outside an air-conditioned room or car. Leaning against the Impala, Dean was grateful for the shady giant oak along the sidewalk that was giving him at least some respite from the sweltering heat.

The Garrison house loomed over him on a slight hill. He couldn't see anyone, but every so often, he'd hear loud conversation filter through one of the open windows from the second floor. Dean wasn't about to knock on the door. He had given Deborah a short call earlier in the day to let her know he was headed over in the afternoon to help her move her things.

Castiel was playing pack-mule today as well, considering he was poofing them, car included, back to Sioux Falls and Bobby's. Dean wouldn't have minded driving the distance, but honestly… he wasn't looking forward to having a road trip with Deborah any time soon. Much too awkward and he doubted the woman was in the best of moods yet. That, plus the parents' would need some evidence their daughter wasn't literally disappearing into thin air, so he decided to bring his baby along in case they asked the neighbors if they had seen the 'mysterious boyfriend.'

The arguing with her parents, she told him on the phone, were finally dying down, but it was still pretty tense. They wanted to meet the mysterious boyfriend she miraculously obtained in college who just-so-happened to have showed up three days ago at Mass, where she dropped the bombshell she was pregnant. The pastor and his wife weren't pleased to hear that, as expected, and they weren't impressed by Deborah's sudden insistence on moving out with said-boyfriend.

Considering her parents had never met or even seen Castiel, Dean was staying far out of their sights, just in case they mistook him for the angel. Of course, it wouldn't have been the _first_ time he got pegged by an angry parent for being involved with their child, but this time, he was innocent. Sort of.

So he settled for creeping outside the house until Deborah finished packing. He wasn't going to rush her, considering the short time limit they had given her to get her act together and move out… with total strangers. Then again, there were two other options that luckily she found even less inviting: either go live at Bobby under less strict terms, live at home with the threat of her family getting dragged into this mess, _or_ go where Raphael wanted her to go, and that was most likely nowhere overly pleasant.

Deborah was smart and chose option one. Bobby might have been pissed when Dean popped on over earlier in the week to let him know that he was going to be playing host for the next, say, ten months. The older hunter wasn't pleased, but they all expected that. After ranting and verbally (and almost physically) tearing Dean a new one about getting involved with angels again, willingly, Dean had finally gotten him calm enough to hear about Raphael and exactly why Dean got involved.

Bobby was still displeased, but the most he did after that was glare and huff, and complain about having to be the one to put up room and board for some lady he had never met, regardless of how much shit she was in, just like the rest of them. Dean had a feeling Bobby was a bit more relaxed about it all than he would have been normally. Dean hadn't exactly been calling Bobby up every day, or even every week, since Stull Cemetery. He knew Bobby was grateful Dean had still seen Bobby as a source of help.

A loud slam of a screen door was preceded by a short yell of something not-quite-pleasant. It drew Dean's gaze back up the hill and he saw Deborah Garrison walking down the flight of steps down to the sidewalk, carrying a bag over her shoulder, plus two more in her hands.

"Hey," Dean called, waving. He braced himself; this was going to be awkward.

Deborah smiled politely, nodded. "Hello." She stopped short of him and the Impala before looking back at her luggage, hesitant.

"That's it?" Dean asked, surprised. He didn't peg Deborah for being too materialistic, but come on… _women_. They were supposed to have a lot of stuff.

"I really don't have too much to bring, really," she admitted, chuckling quietly as she let him take the two bags from her hands to put in the back of the Impala. "I figured I'll be purchasing more for the baby later on. No sense buying it here and then dragging all that over."

Dean nodded, trying not to look at her. He for one was going to ignore the whole baby-situation for as long as possible. For now, he was more concerned about getting Deborah settled so he could get back on the road for his part of the mission. "Yeah. Cas is going to poof us over to Bobby's if you're ready."

"Where is he?" Deborah asked, glancing around. She wasn't nervous as much as afraid of missing something important.

Laughing dryly, Dean shut the car door. He had no idea where Castiel was, but he was probably doing a million things at once. "Probably running a few of his own errands before stopping by to do this," he answered.

Castiel got the short end of the stick for this one. He was up in Heaven ninety-percent of the time, sorting out what amounted to peace treaties with Raphael's side. Apparently Castiel's supporters hadn't been pleased by the treaty, but things were smoothing out, sort of. Gabriel's return had helped a lot and, between playing protector over at Bobby's during the pregnancy, the archangel had apparently taken up his old-role of messenger boy. That apparently meant a lot of doing nothing these days, but Raphael was pleased, so the rest of them had to pretend to be, too.

Castiel also had to do menial things like this just so he and Dean could get to their own side trip of finding where Jesse Turner had disappeared to. Heaven was trying to keep tabs on the kid, but it wasn't anything conclusive. Castiel had finally gotten Raphael to agree to let Dean and himself pick up the trails and get more intel on what the supposed Antichrist was up to. It was going to be risky and suicidal—Dean felt nostalgic just thinking about it.

Sighing gustily, Dean glanced around to see if Castiel had bamf-ed his way over yet, but angel-less, he turned back to his current charge. Deborah was staring at the ground, looking more and more out of place. She hadn't gone off running yet, but Dean knew a little reassurance would probably be appreciated.

"You okay?" he asked, startling her.

Deborah looked at him and then smiled thinly. "Do you need to ask?" she asked, sounding amused. He doubted she found anything funny about the situation.

"Yeah…" Dean looked away, the tension never really leaving the space between them.

Crickets sang and the heat just kept hanging overhead. Dean almost wanted to forget waiting for Castiel and just start driving. Looking up, he caught Deborah's eyes and exhaled softly.

"For what its worth…" he started to say, fumbling. "You did good. You did more than I could have asked."

Deborah just looked at him and then looked away. She didn't get angry. She hadn't cried since before, well, it happened. Dean wasn't sure if that was healthy, but as of now, it wasn't his concern.

"You'll be okay," he continued firmly. "_We'll_ be okay." There wasn't a single thing Dean could produce as evidence to support either claim, but for all of the lack of faith he had in Heaven's plans, he had faith in his own.

"Do you think the plan will work?" Deborah asked quietly, looking up at him. She as looked tired as Dean felt. Castiel probably looked even worse, wherever he was.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I do." To their right, he heard a flapping of wings and then silence. Drawing himself up, he turned to face Castiel. "Come on."

Castiel looked pretty damn tired, but not as bad as Dean had been expected. The angel, in his usual raincoat and crooked tie, nodded at Dean. Deborah trailed after Dean, looking up at the angel with an uncertain look.

"Hello, Castiel," she said, polite but perhaps a bit more cowed than before.

Dean didn't miss how Castiel glanced at the woman and then looked away _immediately_. "Deborah," the angel said shortly, before disregarding her. Ouch. Castiel instead looked back at Dean, serious as ever. "Dean, are we ready?"

The hunter nodded, deciding not to comment on Castiel's rather abrupt behavior. "Yeah. We're all set."

Castiel nodded and instructed them to get into the car. Deborah hesitated, looking back at her home once before reluctantly sliding into the passenger seat. Dean got into the driver's side, desperately trying not to look at her.

It was for a good cause—like saving the world kind of cause. Hurt feelings could wait. Apologies could wait, too.

Castiel leaned forward toward Dean, touching the car—and then they were in the middle of the road that lead to Bobby's house. Castiel was gone and Deborah didn't say a word.

Clearing his throat, Dean started up the car and drove forward down the dusty path.

**0000**

Bobby Singer was an easy-going man, generally. He was far less tense than Sam ever was, and Dean had always looked to Bobby as a source of stable, yet flexible help whenever he really found himself in a jam. Getting a woman celestially impregnated to stop the fulfillment of a biblical prophecy to end the world was a bit more than the normal accident, however—even Dean surprised himself when he looked back on it all.

"Get the hell inside," Bobby snapped the moment Dean walked onto the back porch and greeted his long-time friend. Deborah trailed behind, holding her other bag, looking rather out of place with all the cars outside and the bachelor-hunter-pad on the inside.

Dean walked into the familiar kitchen, bracing himself as well as taking in the sights of his second-home—his first being the inside of the Impala. Bobby, wheelchair-free, walked irritably ahead of him, stopping short of the wall between the kitchen and his den. Adjusting his trucker cap, Bobby glared up expectantly at Dean with the power only a father could shoot his son's way. Dean resisted the urge to smile wistfully, knowing it would only incite the older man more.

"Bobby… this is Deborah Garrison," he said instead, gesturing at the uneasy woman behind him, one of her duffle bags swinging in his hand as he did so before he put the luggage down. "Debbie, this is Bobby Singer. He's a hunter, like me."

Bobby's glare turned an astonishingly lukewarm as he turned to Deborah, nodding stiffly. "Pleasure." For the current circumstances, Dean was surprised by the man's efforts to be polite. He had a feeling if he hadn't prepped the older man as well as he had, Bobby wouldn't be nearly as friendly.

"Hi," Deborah said, smiling with equally strained politeness. She nodded, looking around the room. "Thank you… for letting me stay here."

It wasn't like they had much of a choice in places to drop her. Dean wasn't about to drag a pregnant lady with them searching for the Antichrist, even if she was having a normal baby. Castiel didn't trust anyone in Heaven to handle the situation without Raphael sinking his claws into it. Gabriel didn't want to have to find room and board for any human and was only going to cooperate if he only had to keep an eye on an established dwelling.

Dean considered Lisa… but he still hadn't called her back after disappearing three days earlier. He hadn't even left a note. He wasn't about to show up with a pregnant college student and expect Lisa to be, well, understanding.

So… _Bobby_.

Said-hunter was looking perhaps less angry and more you're-all-morons. "Ma'am, I don't mean disrespect toward you… but I really wish you weren't," he said bluntly, in his usual Bobby-way. Deborah winced, but Bobby refocused his scrutiny onto Dean, who then winced as well. "God_damn_ it, Dean. I mean… God. Damn. It."

Sighing heavily, Dean nodded. "I know, Bobby… I know."

Bobby shook his head, wanting to say something scathing… but just let out a big gust of air, just like Bobby would.

"You sure screwed this one to hell and back, haven't you?" he snapped, as if it were all Dean's fault.

Frowning, Dean refused to take the total rap for this. At most, it was a quarter his fault. "If anyone is to blame, it is Raphael," he replied. Deborah had put her bag down and was sitting away from them at the kitchen table, horribly out of place.

Scoffing loudly, Bobby rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started that that jackass," he said, irritable. He gave Dean a strange look, taking a deep breath. "Cripes… I don't suppose you know how to fix this, do you?"

_Fix_ was a strong word. Dean wanted to run the entire situation and plan by Bobby right there. He trusted the older hunter more than he did himself half the time, at least when it came to matters like these. Dean was a fighter, not a planner. Castiel was smart, Gabriel was the King of Tricks, and Dean had a small amount of faith in himself for dealing with strategy… but that didn't make it any less nerve-wracking.

"Kind of," Dean admitted, bracing himself for the other problem Bobby wasn't going to like. "We're, ah, playing it close to the chest, Bobby."

Silence fell over the kitchen. Deborah seemed to have a gift of being able to look everywhere by the problem of the moment, so that left Dean, alone, to stare down Bobby, who was growing redder and puffier with every passing second.

Inwardly, Dean regretted not letting Castiel handle this part. At least the angel could grow back limbs.

"This place _is_ safe to talk, idjit!" Bobby all but shouted, insulted and enraged all at once over the idea that his warded and protected lot was anything but safe. Dean could grant him that on everything else… but those damn angels. They were a wild card and Bobby was still learning the confusing and ancient art of Enochian wards. They couldn't take chances.

"Bobby," Dean tried to say calmly, rationally. "Cas doesn't think _anywhere_ is safe—"

Bobby turned red in the face, puffing his chest out. "So, what, you trust an angel over _me_?" he demanded, angry.

Dean almost missed the fluttering of wings, but he most certainly did not miss the snide and smug voice sing behind him:

"Two angels, _please_ and thank you."

Eyes going wide, Bobby jerked back into the wall and Dean whirled around, ready for, well, anything. Thankfully (oh, how _that_ was an ironic thing to feel relieved about), it was just Gabriel, standing behind him as if he had been there the whole time, cocky smile and candy bar included. _Sonofabitch—_

"_Christ_!" Bobby shouted. Deborah drew back into her chair, eyes huge. Bobby just kept yelling, "Who the hell—?"

Gabriel stepped forward fearlessly, even as Bobby seemed to reach for a concealed knife. "Allow me to do the grand introductions!" he all but _crowed_. He bowed dramatically and theatrically, which only urged a sputter from Bobby and an irate sigh from Dean. "My good sir, I am Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord."

Standing upright, Gabriel sent Dean a mildly surprised look, all sarcastic. "Wow. Haven't said that mouthful in… hmm, at _least_ two millennia," he said, thoughtful. Dean rolled his eyes.

"…Arch… angel?" Bobby said haltingly, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Wait a damn minute, isn't that the Trickster we staked in—? !"

Gritting his teeth, Dean shook his head. "He's an _ally_," he said firmly, hoping there wouldn't be more of an argument about this. "And he's in on it. And yeah, Bobby, I trust him. At least to get this right."

An awkward and tense silence followed, again. Bobby gave Dean a look that was a hybrid between anger and disbelief. "You're serious?" he demanded. "After everything—?"

If his head didn't explode from the glare he was being given, Dean's headache was going to rip through his skull anyway. "Bobby, I am tired and just had to dodge explaining to a Baptist preacher why we were carting off his now-pregnant daughter to an unknown premises, not to mention having to plan a search for the Antichrist," Dean snapped, unable to withhold his own irritation. "_Yes_. I am serious."

"You _moron_," Bobby hissed back, unsympathetic. Breathing in and out like trying to keep his cool, the hunter's eyes flashed up to Gabriel, who was still looking like he was having a blast watching this all play out, and snarled, "What are you standing there for? Magic her stuff upstairs and make yourself useful! Goddamn angels."

Gabriel only smirked, snapped his fingers, and both he and Deborah's bags vanished. Dean mentally swore that if the ex-Trickster screwed around with them, he'd personally find a ward or Enochian spell to hurt the bastard. Deborah stood up, clearly either having enough of the "magic" or just the tension between Bobby and Dean still.

"I'm sorry about all this, Mr. Singer," she said, sounding honestly apologetic.

Bobby, although still mad, shot her a lighter look. "What are _you_ apologizin' for, lady?" he snapped. For him, that was almost friendly. He looked at the ceiling, shaking his head. "I am too old for this… and quite the 'mister' crap. Bobby'll do just fine." Dean winced when the older man turned back to him, fixing him with a dark glare. "You. With me. I want to know everything you're actually willing to talk about. I mean it, Dean."

Dean knew he was in for one good "talking-to," but he let Bobby go outside ahead of him. Turning, he caught Deborah's attention. This was it.

"Alright. You have my number and Cas's number." Dean gestured at his phone, making sure she was paying attention carefully. "You call us, night or day, if you think Raphael or one of his friends is causing shit. Gabriel and Bobby can cover you for demons and anything that might sniff you out, but when it comes to Raph, you keep your head down."

"Right," Deborah agreed, nodding. She looked nervous at the mention of the archangel; she didn't seem to be comfortable around any of the angels, but hey, Dean wasn't about to blame her.

"Bobby's place is warded all over, so it's the safest place," he added, glancing around as if to seek the wards out. "I don't want to seem like I'm pinning you down here, but its—"

"The safest. Right," Deborah finished shortly, interrupting him. She smiled tightly, nodding. "I'll… manage. Thanks."

Dean didn't know quite what to say. He hoped this would be the last time he'd be seeing her at the house, to be honest. He didn't want the search to take the entire pregnancy—because then, Raphael would be up their asses, as would a vengeful Jesse. More than that, he couldn't shake the nagging sense of _You did this_ whenever he had to face the mother-to-be. It was more than awkward. He hoped by the time they settled this mess, Deborah could get on with her life, with or without the unexpected baby in tow.

"It'll be okay, Debbie," he offered, knowing it was a weak reassurance and most likely untrue.

Deborah hesitated and then said. "Please… call me Deborah." She laughed awkwardly. "Never liked Debbie."

Dean could sympathize. "Right." He looked at her, leaning back slowly. "You got this?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine," she said. She sighed quietly and looked him in the eyes, tense. "Just… find that kid soon, okay?"

Smiling as much as he could, Dean nodded. "We'll do our best." It was all he could offer her.

He left the kitchen, heading for the garage where he had to duck a flying wrench to the face. He still couldn't say much other than the basic gist of _Deborah's staying here I'm looking for the Antichrist and angels are still douche bags don't trust them._ By the time he finally got on the road and on the mission, Dean was sincerely glad he wasn't the one who signed up for babysitting.

Now… it was time to hit the road.

**0000**

Gabriel was amused.

He thought it was hilarious that time and fate had brought him here—standing alert and on the ready for humanity's benefits, again. He had thought he would never do that after leaving Heaven. Then again, he had died doing just that, hadn't he? And here he was again, newly resurrected, playing babysitter for a single human just to save the _rest_ of their sorry species from the mistakes his family kept making.

If this became a habit, Gabriel wasn't sure if he would be so willing to commit to Winchester's plans. Even now, he had doubts.

It was funny because of all the times and places to wind up, Gabriel knew this was part of a larger plan… God's plans, even. It had to be. Or just a huge cosmic coincidence. Gabriel didn't like to believe he was being played with by the father figure he once worshipped. As far as he was concerned, God was long gone from anyone's life. They were on their own and that was it.

And now, it was more than just Gabriel pretending to be a pagan god. It was more than Dean Winchester fighting fate, or Castiel challenging the foundations of Heaven. It was the three of them, plus a few other odds and ends, trying to out move Raphael to stop him from setting that Jesse Turner kid off to end life as everyone knew it.

If this had been six months ago, Gabriel would have just said, _Fuck it_, and let the world end. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

But to be honest… the unfunny thing was, well, plans. Gabriel was tired of them. _Tired_. If he ever made or heard another plan, he would go pick a fight with something actually capable of ending his existence and just… go. It was too much of a burden to have to live through.

And yet, here he was, living through one more plan. His last plan. After that, he didn't care. He wasn't going to stick around to be found to be dragged into another mess. His family was gone and his home was more foreign than a haven.

In the course of that last year, he realized the facts: Gabriel didn't belong up there; he belonged down here. He always did. He always would.

The air shifted. Castiel appeared behind him, not bothering to be stealthy. Not that he could sneak up on Gabriel of all angels, of course. The younger and weaker seraph stood back either out of respect or wariness. Gabriel could tolerate either reaction.

"How're things up above?" he asked, deciding to be the one to start the conversation.

Castiel walked slowly closer, circling slightly so he was still a good few feet away from Gabriel as he joined him on the ridge that overlooked a part of South Dakota near Singer's house. Gabriel kind of liked the old man. He had spunk, unlike most of the spineless mortals he met.

"We will survive," Castiel admitted after a moment.

Chuckling, Gabriel just stared out at the skyline. "Maybe," he corrected. Raphael wasn't the planner of the family, but he wasn't dumb by any means. One false move from any of them, and the jig was up. Gabriel had already experienced what it was like to take on one brother; Raphael might not have been the genius of the family, but he was certainly the brawn.

Castiel was quiet for a moment. "You will watch the girl, then?" he asked.

Gabriel turned and looked at his angelic brother carefully. Castiel had the perfect poker face, or at least, he used to. There were lines of, dare Gabriel think, _humanity_, still etched into Castiel's eyes and lips. It took a lot to get a reaction out of him, but Gabriel knew it was permanent. The kid had seen the highs and lows of being human firsthand. Those things didn't go away. Gabriel had never Fallen, but he certainly knew what living on Earth could do to an angel's psyche.

"Not much of a choice, right?" Gabriel asked, smirking. He gestured vaguely at Castiel, bored. "You and Dean-o handle finding out where our little Antichrist slipped off to, I can handle the pregnant lady." He didn't have to talk to her, or look at her for that matter. Just keep the baddies away long enough for the Holy Troublemaker to be born.

He must have sounded as rude as he had thought it would, because the look Castiel sent him was comically severe. "Gabriel…" he began, a warning lacing the tone. "I hope you will be merciful. She's going to be going through much for us."

Gabriel? _Mercy_? That was even more laughable. The archangel snorted, deciding not to comment on that.

"_No_, she's going to be going through it for _herself_, too. Heck, for everyone," he replied, ruthless, knowing it was harsh and knowing Castiel knew it was true. None of them deserved fucking _sympathy_ for the crap they willingly piled on themselves. "We're just one big democratic freedom fighting team, aren't we? Saving the world, one baby at a time, saying _Screw You_ to logic and self-preservation."

Glancing to the side, Gabriel grinned. "So, go. Find the evil brat. I can manage a holy one."

Castiel was quiet for a moment, leaving Gabriel to enjoy the scenery, even though there wasn't much to see. "Do you think…" Castiel began, hesitant, "this will work?"

For an angel who was so certain he was Falling for the right reasons only a year before, Castiel had some insecurities about taking the plunge with this new adventure. It was downright aggravating.

Tossing away a used lollipop stick, Al Gore be damned, Gabriel tossed Castiel an unimpressed look. "I got dragged back into existence and suddenly, I find you and this mess," he replied, deadpan. "If it works, it works. All _I_ know is I've been around for a bit too long to just brush this away as coincidence."

"I would rather it not be coincidence, personally," Castiel answered, so honestly and bluntly, so _Castiel_, that Gabriel did wind up laughing out loud.

"I bet you would," the archangel replied. Castiel said nothing about the colder tone.

He wanted to leave for a little while, to stretch his wings real good before he got stuck in the coop, watching a little house in a junkyard. At least the humans who went in and out of there were interesting (as in, he could torture them all he wanted and it was okay, because they knew what he was already.) He thought about going down somewhere warm (not that August was cold, even in South Dakota), maybe the Caribbean, but of course, _family_ held him back.

"Gabriel."

Gabriel didn't turn around. "Yeah?"

Castiel's eyes, the only damn thing expressive on the kid, were squinted when he finally did look. "…When you were brought back…" he began, the Prince of Awkward, "did you…"

The archangel didn't have to read minds to know the answer to that. Castiel should have known the answer, too. "No, I didn't see God."

"Did you hear him?" Castiel asked, desperate. Gabriel refrained from striking the stupid right off his face.

"I have no idea," he said instead, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. That wasn't a lie; it wasn't like disembodied voices typically introduced themselves. "He might have brought us back, but he still left us to handle this alone."

It was almost disappointing when Castiel didn't look as crestfallen as Gabriel expected. "…Perhaps," Castiel agreed. At least he had the decency to look cowed.

Gabriel closed his eyes, smirking. "Good luck with the hunt," he said, knowing it would be anything but lucky. Even if they managed to find the kid, their chances of surviving the encounter weren't optimal.

Perhaps babysitting was the better deal in this, he reasoned.

"I will be in touch," Castiel said, knowing he was being dismissed. Even if the kid had told Heaven to shove it (and that was something Gabriel had to applaud the other angel for), he still instinctually gave Gabriel respect as a superior. It was almost annoying.

Castiel vanished and Gabriel just stared out at the clouds. If he was romantic, he would have thought they were perfect to fly through. It was a beautiful day, after all.

Instead of flying, he thought about warm beaches and busty women in bikinis. When he opened his eyes, he was staring out at a South Dakota skyline and a junkyard in the distance.

Time to get to work.

**0000**

The first major clue they had was a growing amount of demonic omens in a town out in Oregon. It wasn't much, but to be honest, with Lucifer out of the picture, Dean couldn't think of another explanation. He hadn't heard from Bobby's sources of any other demon attacks worth mentioning. It was as if they were all focusing their efforts, again, on something larger than just the ordinary possession.

Was it sick, or just sad, that Dean missed ordinary possessions?

The roads of North Dakota were anything but packed. Dean found himself driving his baby freely down the interstate, enjoying the silence. The radio hadn't been touched probably all week, but even as the events of the day slowly became dim memories and he had the chance to unwind, Dean was content with the silence.

He still had things to think about, things that wore heavily on his mind.

His phone, abandoned, sat somewhere in the back seat. He should have had it in the cup holder, even though he doubted there would be trouble that fast over at Bobby's. It wasn't like he was hiding from Deborah at the moment, however. Lisa had called four times and left five text messages, demanding to know where he was, if he was alright, if he was even alive—

And Dean really… really couldn't bring himself to answer. He wasn't afraid. He was… just… It was a bad time. He had told Lisa he was taking a break from the hunter lifestyle, but he never said he would quit completely. That was a piss-poor excuse for running away without a damn word, of course, but Dean had other priorities. Now that he was on the road, and with a simple plan of investigating ahead of him…

It shouldn't have been as hard as it was to pick up the phone.

He left it in the backseat. He wasn't going to think about it, at least not until he got a decent amount of traveling done and was able to get some decent sleep in a motel. He was used to traveling alone. It wasn't… unbearable.

"You look tense."

"_JesusFuckingChrist_—CAS!" Dean roared, fumbling with the breaks. The car swerved dangerously, but Dean managed to get her back on the right side of the road. Castiel sat innocently in the passenger seat, undisturbed.

After Dean spent a good thirty-seconds trying to get his heart back in his chest and glaring daggers at Castiel in the meanwhile, the angel apparently got the message. "Sorry," he offered, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "I forgot you get startled easily."

"Only when you teleport yourself right into the damn car without warning me!" Dean snapped back. His heart couldn't take much more shit from anybody. "Goddamn it, Cas."

"Sorry."

"I'm _sure_."

Dean huffed and refused to do anything but glare at the road ahead of him, even as it started to get darker and harder to see. He'd stop at the rest area after next. It felt good to be out driving, but maybe some things were a bit too nostalgic for Dean's tastes.

Castiel remained in the seat for a good twenty-minutes, saying nothing, as usual. Dean almost felt like he had somehow skipped the last two months of drama and it was like it was old times. Only…

Sam wasn't there.

Dean gripped the steering wheel. He wasn't going to think about it now.

"So," he began.

Castiel tilted his head at him. "So?" the angel prompted, not revealing a damn thing, as usual.

Dean nodded, desperate to get the ball rolling for them, somehow. "We go find Jesse. Then, we save the world," he replied. He glanced at Castiel, hoping for something he couldn't quite place. Reassurance? Unlikely. "And how to get from that Point A to Point B… any idea?"

As much as the angel could be a cryptic and unemotional bastard, Castiel's eyes spoke louder than the angel did. "I was hoping to leave it to you to find a more appropriate solution," he said. The only reason Dean knew he was teasing was because the angel's eyes crinkled, just slightly.

This was way too damn nostalgic.

"Great," he murmured to himself. Looking to the side, Dean caught Castiel's eyes. "You're coming with me?"

He didn't mean for it to sound as curious as it did, but Castiel didn't notice. "I wouldn't send you to find him alone," the angel replied simply. "Heaven needs my help, but I am hoping that in time, I can dedicate more of my efforts to this instead."

Well it was reassuring that Castiel still had his back, but it was less reassuring to think about the state of Heaven. "Do you have a deputy up there, to watch Raphael?" Dean asked, looking up at the ceiling, as if he could even tell. It was a habit.

"Yes. I have allies still." Castiel inclined his head, serious. "If he makes a move against us, we'll know."

Dean wasn't looking forward to discussing war with anyone, let alone celestial beings, but he nodded as if he knew anything about it. "Good."

They drove on in silence. Castiel was looking out the windows, as if he were used to sitting in human vehicles all the time. He had a lot of practice, but Dean had the sneaking suspicion his friend was a bit more angelic than he had been before the showdown with Lucifer, thus, less human. Castiel was still stoic and still a socially-inept nightmare… but Dean could still see glimpses of his friend, somewhere in there behind the mask.

That was reassuring. Dean swallowed, feeling nervous, though he didn't know why.

"Thanks for coming with me, Cas. I really don't like the idea of…" _Traveling down back roads, fighting monsters, living the life he had had only a few years before, with his brother by his side instead of an empty passenger seat—_ "Facing this off by myself, you know? Kid's probably got demons out the ass, even if he doesn't want them there."

"Don't worry," Castiel said, with the same honesty and effort that made Dean hate the angel as much as it made Dean entirely grateful he knew him. "I will not leave you on your own."

Well, there wasn't much to say to that. "…Thanks," he muttered, eyes on the road.

Castiel continued, "We have no specific leads on where the boy is right now, so I can afford to travel with you."

Dean laughed dryly. "Just like old times, eh?" he asked.

"No," Castiel replied. He didn't mean it, but his words were like hot pokers on an old wound. "They're not."

Because it shouldn't have been an angel in the seat there. It should have been his brother. But those were days long gone.

"…Right," Dean said quietly, dropping it. "I guess not."

Fifteen minutes in, Castiel reached over and turned the radio on. Dean didn't look at him, but he did hear how the cassette that was inside it was somehow Led Zepplin and somehow _Ramble On_ filtering through the speakers. Castiel sat back without a word and Dean didn't say anything either, not even when they got to the motel. Dean, for the moment, preferred to avoid words.

He was just glad he wasn't going alone.

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**End **_**Week One**_

_**Next**_**: They find a case, Gabriel has a moment to reflect somewhere he's been avoiding, and Dean seeks out an old friend.**

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**


	5. Week 2

_**Revelations**_**  
Week 2**  
By Nan00k

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! This week, Cas and Dean get a case, Gabe gets his emo on, and Dean remembers a friend who might be able to help.

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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**Ekalaka, Montana**

They were in Montana, or at least, a small portion of it. Dean didn't really care too much for cataloguing the exactness of where they traveled. It was all the same, in the end—the same winding roads, the same empty highways. It was soothing to just drive; Dean had missed that the most, he realized. The Impala soared over the roads, almost like it was eager to get back on the trails itself. A month had been too long.

Castiel had gotten better at the whole popping-into-the-car thing. That was to say, he refrained from appearing randomly in the back seat and scaring the crap out of him. He now waited until Dean was out of the car at a gas station or at some other rest stop. They had only been moving for a few days now, and Dean wasn't surprised that Castiel wasn't always around.

That afternoon, Dean had stopped to fill the tank up at a gas station along the main highway. When he returned to the car, he wasn't too shocked to find a rain-coat-clad angel sitting in the passenger seat.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said calmly as Dean slid into his own seat, starting the car.

"Hey, Cas," the human replied. He wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that he was so used to this situation. "What's happening?" They had been rather lucky for the last few days; nothing was really happening on Earth or Heaven to raise any alarms.

"Not much has changed in Heaven, if that's what you mean," Castiel answered. He sat back in the seat, looking strangely relaxed. Normally, the angel sat up straight. Then again, he had been running all over lately, so he might have been tired, angel mojo back or not. "All is well at Bobby's, too."

Dean cleared his throat, trying to keep the conversation going. "How's Debbie—Deborah?" He hadn't called Bobby's since he had left. He imagined if there was a problem he would have been made aware though.

Castiel didn't seem very concerned either, though he did hesitate just slightly over his answer. "She seemed well. Her pregnancy isn't noticeable yet."

There hadn't been a reason to mention it or even really think about it, but Dean couldn't help but look at Castiel a bit closer after that. Ever since they had all gotten stuck together with this plan of theirs, Castiel had barely said two words to Deborah, or even looked at her. Dean could understand why there was tension between them, but Castiel was being a little bit too cold.

"Did you even stop in to say hi?" Dean prompted.

"Stopping in would have been unnecessary," Castiel replied, almost too quickly. He averted his eyes, giving the report as emotionlessly as he did with much of everything else. "Both she and Bobby are fine. Gabriel is sticking to his post."

Dean snorted. "Well, that's good. I have doubts that bastard isn't going to go running off on us later." He had had severe problems with Gabriel's involvement in all of this. He didn't trust the ex-Trickster, not one bit. He was a coward and a liar.

"Gabriel has reasons to help," Castiel replied, frowning as he looked back over at Dean.

"Or so he says," Dean shot back, gritting his teeth. "I don't trust him."

Sam would have said to give Gabriel the chance. Dean wasn't Sam though. He would have trusted Jesse himself over Gabriel to get the job done right. But they didn't have much of a choice and having an archangel (tentatively) watching their asses politically speaking was better than nothing.

"I don't either," Castiel admitted, sighing quietly. "But we have to at least give him the credit of doing the simple object of watching the house."

"Right…" Dean hoped Bobby had more patience than Dean had, or at least that Gabriel would be out of sight for most of the time. Shaking his head, the hunter glanced back at Castiel. "So… you hanging around for a bit?"

"Until nightfall and you procure lodging," Castiel replied. He paused and then, almost apologetically, added, "I am very busy, Dean."

Busy was an interesting way to put it. As far as Dean knew, the angel was hopping between states plus dimensions as he traveled back to Heaven to keep it from blowing itself up again. Dean hoped Castiel had the sense not to be hunting for Jesse solo in any spare moments in between his time on Earth and Heaven.

It briefly occurred to him that perhaps Castiel's 'free time' essentially added up to the time he spent traveling with Dean in the Impala. That… was almost sad. Dean made the mental note to drag the angel somewhere fun once in a while, just in case.

"I know, I know." Dean smirked over at his friend, even though he didn't really relish the idea of traveling alone. "Don't think you have to stick around here twenty-four-seven for my sake."

Castiel frowned. "You…" he started to say, but stopped. Instead, he nodded slightly. "I don't mind being here. I like to help."

All that guy did was try to help. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he didn't, but in the end, he still tried. Dean didn't know a lot of other people who tried that damn much. The hunter sighed quietly. "I know."

Traveling with Castiel was like traveling with a narcoleptic person; not that Castiel fell asleep, of course. It was more like conversations would spring up out of no where but then die off unexpectedly. It wasn't uncomfortable. Just the fact someone was in the seat, taking in the same sights as he did, soothed Dean's nerves. He didn't mind traveling solo. It was just nice to have someone there anyway.

By the time it got dark, he found a town and a motel along the main stretch of road. He had managed to get Castiel into talking about music for once (the angel never really seemed too keen about the subject), but as soon as the Impala crossed into the parking lot of the motel, the conversation effectively died. Dean parked and went to grab his things from the back. He saw Castiel on the outside of the car now, the door still shut.

"I'll see you in the morning," the angel said. It was important to note that he didn't even seem awkward with the exchange. Dean smiled to himself.

"Yeah," Dean replied absently, looking over his shoulder. "Night, Cas."

Castiel vanished and Dean headed into the motel lobby alone. He didn't even notice how easy it was to use a fake ID or credit card, as if he had never taken a break from this lifestyle. It was a bit more difficult to focus on ordering a single rather than a double. When he finally got into his room, expecting to crash early so he could get up equally early, he wasn't expecting to find himself standing in the middle of the room, unable to do much else.

He stared at the empty, single bed, and suddenly… everything in that motel room felt too large.

Too empty.

Dean gripped his jacket tightly.

_Fuck this._ He was getting a drink.

**0000**

There was a decent looking bar and grill near the motel, so Dean walked. The air was still a little too humid for his tastes, but he didn't mind. It felt good to just walk for once, after being cooped up in the car for the last few days.

The bar had a name, but he didn't bother looking at it. There were a few people throughout the main area and only one other person at the counter. Dean slid into one of the seats, eyes focused on the whiskey he was going to order. The bartender didn't talk much, much to Dean's pleasure.

He wasn't going to get drunk. That would have been bad, considering he'd have to deal with a hangover in the morning plus a long drive. He contemplated making Castiel drive for once, but not only was he not sure if the angel could drive, he wasn't about to let him drive his baby. Ever.

So, he got tipsy. Only _tipsy_. It felt good, considering he hadn't even had a beer in… _Christ_, over a week. After getting thrown into this crazy nonsense, he thought he deserved a drink.

He probably should have called Lisa back. Most likely, he should have days ago. But the phone was still reading back unanswered calls and unopened text messages. She was probably frantic, even if she remembered he had other duties as a hunter, even if he had told her he was taking a break. Dean didn't want to think about it now. If he kept thinking about it, he _would_ definitely have to get drunk.

If Sam had been there, he could have gotten drunk. At least someone could have walked him out. Dean had to walk himself out after a few shots, forcibly calling it quits on himself. He had to focus, even if it wasn't fair.

Next time, he was going to make Castiel stay long enough to get drunk. Castiel could even have a few drinks without a problem, because apparently, angels needed a shit ton of liquor to even—

Dean almost instantly sobered up as he crossed right in front of the bar's parking lot and heard the back door slam. The following clatter of heels on asphalt told him it's a lady, but what really got his attention was the fact she was cursing rather loudly—and fearfully.

Stopping under the street lamp, Dean watched as a blond-haired woman he had seen inside the bar, behind the counters, nervously march toward the front of the bar. That was a little odd, Dean noted, considering she had just left through the back.

"Something wrong, lady?" he heard himself ask as soon as she walked close enough. He blinked in surprise.

The lady jerked back, not having seen him standing there. "I-I don't know," she stammered. She smiled, clearly jittery over something, and tried to brush away the inquiry. "Uh, I need to go call my husband." Which was strange again, considering she was outside the bar.

Dean frowned, deciding to investigate it a bit further. "You look like you just saw a ghost." Only he would appreciate the irony of that, or even dare to make that kind of joke now. Sam would have slammed him upside the head.

The woman stopped completely and gave Dean a startled look that he knew all too well. "I—"

He knew that pause and he knew that look. Exhaling quietly, Dean looked up and then back down at the woman, who looked just as pale and shaken as every other victim he had ever met.

"What'd you see?" he prompted gently. He tried to remember how Sam would handle things like these, but—it was a bit fuzzy. He tried.

The lady smiled again, this time even more nervous. "I thought… it's crazy," she laughed, trying to brush the conversation away again. When Dean kept staring at her expectantly, however, that smile began to crack. She gestured vaguely back at the "I thought I saw an old man in the backroom, but no one was there. I mean, it was only me. I saw him in the reflection of the door, but…"

"Relax," Dean said, trying to cut off the building hysteria in her voice. He nodded at the bar. "You need to call your husband?"

"Yes," the woman replied, looking back at the building, still jittery. "I need to close up, but—" Ah, so she owned the place.

Dean smiled, reassuring. He thought he was, at least. "Alright, I'll wait for him with you, if you want."

The reassuring thing must have worked, because the woman smiled, although the nervous lines around her eyes never changed in the poor lighting of the streetlamp. "Thank you," she said. She stuck her hand awkwardly toward him. "I'm Susan."

"Dean," he offered back, shaking her hand. He cleared his throat as she called her husband on her cell phone instead of going back into the bar (she seemed reluctant to even go near the building now actually). "You didn't happen to recognize the old man, did you?"

"What?" Susan asked, startled as she pocketed her phone.

Coughing lightly, Dean looked out at the street absently. "Just… wondering. Kind of interested in the paranormal myself." That wasn't his customary excuse, but it was an excuse. He hoped it would have the same results as him suggesting he was a reporter or a cop.

"I'm sure I was just seeing things," Susan said, nervously amused again. After a moment, she added, "I-I didn't recognize him, though."

Dean frowned. "He wasn't, you know… creepy looking, was he?" he ventured, knowing that was a stretch. He hadn't felt anything weird inside the bar, though that didn't rule out anything malicious.

Susan hesitated. "No… just… out of place," she said, wrapping her arms around herself, exhaling sharply.

Dean stayed by her for the rest of the time between the closing up of the shop by her colleagues and the drifting of the last few bar-goers. By the time he saw a car approaching, he had decently sobered up.

"Thank you," Susan said as her husband pulled up to the curb. She smiled politely at him and it was just like the other smiles Dean had gotten over the years of meeting victims and picking up a trail where their misery trailed off.

"Don't mention it," he said, nodding. He waved her off in the car and looked back toward his motel, considering.

He should have figured even on the first week back, a case would find him. It might not have been much, but he didn't mind a little action to get the trip going right.

**0000**

When Dean got back to the motel room, he sat down on the bed, but made a quick prayer skyward. Castiel appeared a few seconds later, looking a little harassed for being called down again so soon, but the angel quickly frowned in confusion.

"Where were _you_?" Castiel asks immediately, taking in Dean's appearance. Shit. Maybe he did still look drunk. Not that he was actually drunk. Just tipsy.

Clearing his throat loudly, Dean gestured absently toward the door. "Out." He tried to keep the conversation focused on the matter at hand. "We have a case."

Castiel blinked. "A case?"

Pausing, Dean tried to clear away the last bit of fuzz from his brain. Him, hunter. Cas, angel. "Yeah. I'm a hunter," he replied, ignoring the slip. "_I_ have a case."

"I see," Castiel replied. He didn't say anything else; he just stood there, waiting for Dean to say something else a bit more informative.

"Ghost a local bar," Dean said, kicking off his boots. He knew it was a small thing, but if it took him all day tomorrow, he felt like he should let Castiel know about the change in plans. "Seems harmless enough, but you can't leave these things to get worse."

"You were drinking?" Castiel asked, sending Dean a suspicious look.

Dean looked back with sudden defensiveness. "Yeah? And?" He was allowed to drink. It wasn't like he had been looking for a damn case. They always found him first.

Almost embarrassed, Castiel cleared his throat and looked away. "Nothing."

It was almost one and they had an early morning. Dean thought about getting a shower, but he was too tired. "Well, I'm going to get some shut-eye and then research who the guy is in the morning," he said, rambling more than talking. "We can see then if we're dealing with a malicious spirit or just some repeat."

"We?" Castiel suddenly repeatedly, louder than before, surprised.

Dean stopped, opening his eyes and found himself staring down that hideous wall paper across from him. Another bed could have been there, but there wasn't. Instead, beside him was an angel in a raincoat and he was considering going on the first case since—everything happened. His chest suddenly felt like it was burning, and not from the alcohol.

He wasn't going to think about it. Not now.

Instead, he sighed and waved a hand at Castiel, who was still waiting for some kind of explanation. "Right. Sorry. Force of habit," he said lamely.

Castiel frowned, tilting his head in interest. "What is, including someone in hunting with you?" he asked. He didn't mean to overstep boundaries. For him, boundaries were for mere mortals.

Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah."

There was another pause. "I wouldn't be opposed to helping, Dean," Castiel said, meaning well. He still came off sounding as emotionless as a rock.

Help. How many times had Castiel offered that? Too many, Dean thought absently. "…That's good to know," he said, trying to stay sounding neutral himself. "Might need back-up."

That was a lie; this could hardly be called a case, but Castiel didn't seem to mind. "I can… investigate for you now," the angel offered, serious. "You need rest. We will need to move in the morning to keep on target."

Dean blinked. "You know how to use a computer?" he asked, feeling numb. Sam would have found that _intriguing_.

"I know how to talk to spirits," Castiel replied, the shadow of a smirk daring to show up on his face.

Outside, a car alarm went off for about ten seconds, but that pretty much did Dean in. "…Yeah… I guess that could work." He groaned, leaning slowly, _slowly_, toward the bed. "Go for it, Haley Joel."

Castiel huffed quietly. "I don't understand that—"

"Thanks and good-luck, Cas. I need sleep," Dean said, just wanting to be alone.

He didn't see Castiel's expression. The angel was quiet before saying, calmly, "Good night." He vanished, in his usual vanishing-angel way.

Dean meant to change out of at least his pants, but the moment he hit that crappy hotel pillow, he couldn't find the reason to get up until morning came back to kick his ass.

**0000**

"His name is Hector."

Dean, in the middle of spitting out a mouthful of mouthwash, manage to spray it everywhere on the sink except the basin. Whirling around, he found, as expected, Castiel standing at the bathroom's doorway.

This was becoming a bit _too_ nostalgic.

"Holy shit—_CAS_!" Dean shouted. Castiel didn't even flinch, but Dean, recovering from a mild hangover, wasn't in the mood for this angel bullshit. "Rule about not popping into the car while driving? Applicable—_everywhere else_!"

Castiel tilted his head. "Sorry," he said. It was almost an automatic reaction rather than a real apology. Suddenly, Castiel looked curious, peering closer at Dean. "You weren't always this jumpy about me appearing."

The way he spoke, it was always an accusation. Dean scowled and walked past him into the living quarters. It was too early for this crap.

"I'm a little out of practice. Sorry," he snapped. Castiel followed him loyally however, so Dean was force to reckon with why the angel was even there. "Cripes… what were you saying?"

Castiel stood by as Dean fumbled with putting his clothing away, as if nothing had happened. "The spirit. His name is Hector. He was the original owner of the building the bar is now at," he began, like a solider giving a field report. "He died in the building thirty years ago."

Dean stared at him blankly, not sure exactly what just happened. "…How did you get all that information?" he asked, throwing his duffle bag back onto the bed. He had planned to get packed and check out before heading over to the bar. It would have been an easy case to take before hitting the road.

"I asked him," Castiel replied, in a you-should-know-that manner.

_Asked_ him? As in, just walked up and chatted it up with a ghost? Considering that statement, Dean came to the conclusion his angelic friend had been holding out on him.

"Would have been convenient, having a ghost-whisperer back in the day," he said irritably, though he was more surprised than anything else. Of _course_ Castiel could talk to ghosts; he was a freaking angel. He ran a weary hand over his face, sighing. "Alright, why's he haunting the place now? Susan said she didn't remember him so they aren't connected."

"I didn't get a whole message, but he is there for a reason, I believe," Castiel replied.

Dean glanced around the room, thinking about going to a café nearby before heading out. "What kind of reason?" he asked, distracted as he reached for his shoes.

"Nothing malicious, as far as I can tell."

Scoffing, Dean looked up at the angel. "Great… how did you talk to him anyway?" he asked. It was curious.

Castiel _stared_ at him. "Angel mojo." He didn't even blink. Dean dropped his head into his hands. This is what he had to deal with.

"You know what? I think shit like that is even better when you say it with such a straight face. Keep it up," he muttered darkly. He stood up and ignored the strange stare Castiel sent him. "Alright, what do you think—we burn his bones, or talk him into the light, if he's actually not malicious?"

Castiel shook his head. "Perhaps we should approach the spirit directly. I do not think it is a matter of burning the remains," he said.

Dean wasn't all about trusting Castiel to have this completely down pat; to think of it, he had never really been around the angel on a normal (if there ever was one) case. It had always been apocalypse-this and horseman-that. Still, the guy was an _angel_. Dean preferred his shotgun over weird powers any day, but he did trust Castiel enough to know how to fight a simple monster.

"Figures you'd be the talking-type," Dean muttered. He grabbed his jacket, despite the warm weather outside, and pointed at the door. "Let's go."

Their ultimate destination would be the bar, but first? He was getting some friggin' coffee.

**0000**

He probably should have been more concerned with how easy it was to slip into the motions of going on a hunt. This one was a bit less of a hunt and more like, well, a ghost intervention. Castiel was adamant that the Hector guy would move on peacefully. That didn't stop Dean from slipping his shotgun under his coat, even though it was uncomfortably hot outside. Castiel frowned at the human, but didn't say anything. He was the one walking around in a Goddamn raincoat. Dean looked normal compared to the angel, but at least that was reassuringly normal.

They still managed to earn themselves suspicious looks from the few bar patrons there at ten in the morning. It was a little strange even for Dean to be drinking that early, but it wasn't like they were going to be sticking around long for people to really pay them much attention. Casually walking over to the bar and knowing Castiel was only a few feet behind him, Dean slid into the same seat he had last night.

This time, the bartender was a familiar face. "Hi, Dean," Susan said brightly, smiling at him.

Dean nodded, smiling back with equal friendliness. "Hey, Susan," he answered, leaning against the counter on his elbows. "How are you?"

Susan laughed. "I'm good. Better than last night, at least." She did look a lot better since the last time he saw her. Maybe it was just the lack of streetlamp light, though.

"Didn't see your friend today, huh?" Dean asked, smiling winningly. Castiel had slowly and awkwardly slid into the seat next to him, looking down at the bar counter with a mix of apprehensiveness and interest.

Expectedly, Susan hesitated, smile fading. "…No," she said, awkward. She smiled again, nervous.

Chuckling, Dean nodded. "Hey, that's a good thing, then," he said. He pointed behind her. "I'll take the house brand."

Susan quickly got to fetching the beer, leaving Dean the chance to turn and face Castiel, who had watched the exchange curiously. The angel frowned at Dean now, however.

"What now, Dean?" he asked. If he was expecting some kind of dash-in-and-kill-things plan, he was going to be surprised.

"Go to where the guy is. The storage room, right?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded, so the hunter pointed at the door leading to the backrooms. He had already noted there wasn't a visible bathroom sign, so it had to be through those doors as well. "I'm going to grab this drink, sit for a bit, and then go for a fake bathroom run. I'll meet you back there."

Castiel frowned, considering the plan. "…Right." And then he promptly vanished, in full view of anyone else paying attention. He was damn lucky no one reacted. Dean fought the urge to drop his head into his hands.

"Subtle," Dean muttered, glaring holes into the wood grain in front of him. "A regular fucking ninja."

Almost on cue, Susan reappeared, offering him a cold beer. "Here you go," she said. She looked at Castiel's empty seat, surprised. "Where'd your friend go?"

Dean sighed quietly. "Thanks." He smiled, shrugging away the question. "He, uh, was only dropping me off."

He nursed the beer along for a few minutes. He really wasn't too keen on drinking that early, especially after a night of doing just that. He had overdone it a little, but at least he remembered to set up the hunt itself.

After five minutes, Dean knew he was pushing his luck with how well Castiel would handle waiting around, even with a ghost. Waving Susan over, Dean smiled politely.

"Where's your bathroom?"

She directed him exactly where he thought she would: behind the swinging door, on the left. One he got inside, he ignored the bathroom and the kitchen entrance (ducking out of sight when a worker walked past). The only two doors left led to the women's bathroom and a larger room that housed a bunch of boxes. The last one had to be the storage room.

Slowly shutting the door behind him, Dean looked around the first row of shelves carefully, bringing out his shotgun, just in case. He doubted he would need it, but he wasn't about to take chances. The room wasn't that large and only had about three shelves from the door to the back wall. Dean could see the emergency exit where Susan had left through the night before. Everything was very still and dim. The shadows were inevitable.

Dean wondered where Castiel had gotten to, but something creaking in the corner caught his attention. At first, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There were exposed pipes running along the ceiling on the one side of the room. The building was rather old, so Dean wasn't too surprised if the pipes were causing strange noises. He should have brought the EMF detector, but—

On the edge of one of the shelves, Dean saw a second face peer up form behind his. An old man, pale and white haired, stared out at him with sad eyes. Shotgun firmly in his grasp, Dean spun around, jaw set. The barrel squarely aimed between the eyes of the ghost that was less than five feet away from him on the other side of the row of shelves.

First instinct told Dean to shoot the damn thing. The only thing keeping him from blowing its head off was because he really didn't want to have to explain salt buckshot being stuck in the backroom of Susan's bar—

"Dean," a familiar voice said from behind him. Dean whirled around, shocked.

"What? !" he demanded, glancing between Castiel and the ghost in front of them. Neither spirit nor angel looked very amused.

Castiel glanced at Dean's shotgun, had the nerve to sigh a little, and then said, "There is a leak."

As if that fucking meant something. "_What_?" Dean asked, irritated.

There was a mixture of amusement and exasperation tinting Castiel's expression. "A gas leak. The pipes on this side of the building are beginning to wear through," he said simply. He nodded slightly toward the ghost. "Hector wants you to tell Susan before it hurts the patrons."

"…What?" he managed.

Angels could talk to ghosts just like _that_? Since when did life get that freaking simple?

"I said—," Castiel began, tirelessly.

Dean shook his head, glancing nervously back at Hector, who hadn't moved. "No, I mean—oh." The hunter stopped and gave Hector an appraising look. He didn't look malicious, if anything. "…A real Casper, then?"

Shoulders sagging, Castiel radiated an _I Give Up_ aura. "I have no idea," he said, weary. Dean would have to play culture-tutor on this trip apparently, but that could wait.

Lowering his weapon, Dean scoffed humorously. "He's harmless," he said. Hector wavered slightly in and out of sight, but that was it. He was just… waiting for someone to listen. Sam would have gotten a kick out of this.

"Indeed," Castiel agreed, nodding. "He was trying to warn her."

Turning around, Dean looked right at Hector the Harmless Ghost. "…I'll tell her," he said, directing at the spirit, even if the specter couldn't understand. "Don't worry. You can rest now."

He was never good at soothing the dead. He preferred to burn them. But this time, it wasn't necessary. Hector only inclined his head; Dean took that as an _Okay_.

"He will rest, Dean," Castiel said, reassuring even though he really didn't have to reassure Dean of anything. He looked at the door leading back to the front of the bar. "Should we go tell Susan?"

Dean frowned, considering their options. "A bit strange for us to tell her that," he said at last, shaking his head. "I'll put an anonymous call into the fire department. They'll sweep the place and find the leak."

The angel seemed appeased by that, and apparently Hector did too; he had long since vanished without a trace.

Dean called the cops the moment he and Castiel slipped out the back door and got to the motel. He felt slightly bad about leaving without paying Susan for the beer, but hey, he thought it evened out in the end, even if Castiel had been the one to figure out what Hector had wanted. They waited around until the fire department showed up at the bar, ready to investigate the supposed gas leak.

"Good work, Cas," Dean said, as he slid into the driver's eat. He'd be driving for most of the evening until they reached the next town. It was a shame they got a late start, but it was good hunt, so he couldn't complain.

"I barely did anything," Castiel countered, frowning in confusion. Dean laughed quietly; he had forgotten the angel had problems with compliments. It was all apologies and self-sacrificing bullshit for this guy.

"Still…" Dean smirked at his friend anyway. "_We_ did good." It wasn't going on the list for any real hunting mission success, but they still did good.

Castiel must have considered that, because in the end, he smiled softly. "Yes," he agreed and that was enough for the both of them.

**0000**

_**Lawrence, Kansas**_

It wasn't difficult to find the cemetery. Castiel had mentioned it—in fact, all of Heaven had been talking about it. Gabriel could have zapped himself to and from Sioux Falls and Lawrence, Kansas, but he hadn't right away. He had purposely not thought about it for, well, the entire time he had been back in the land of the living.

Stull Cemetery was just a broken lot with dead people. Nothing special about it, not even from a paranormal sense. It was old and had seen many burials, however. The sense of oldness and a world-weariness was all too familiar.

Touching down that morning, Gabriel wasn't exactly where why he had decided to visit. His charge was still asleep at Singer's place and the old man himself was in his study when Gabriel left. There were enough wards and sigils in place to keep all by Gabriel (or an equivalent angel) himself away. Castiel might have argued against the occasional vacations, but Gabriel wasn't about to sacrifice all his spare time to play daycare for a couple of humans.

Gabriel took in the land and found himself unsure of exactly why he was even there. It was pointless to look around for—whatever might still be there. There wasn't a blade of grass out of line, or a twig in the wrong place, due to what had happened there. The Cage's presence had come and gone without a single sign.

He knew where it was, though. He knew what had happened there, courteous of rumor and Castiel's description. The spot wasn't obvious; there weren't any pulsing signatures of evil, or of miasma, but… he found it anyway. Gabriel stood above a patch of perfectly green and perfectly unmarred grass—and he just knew.

This is where his brothers had finally—_finally_—ended their feud.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, honestly.

They deserved what they got, in the end. Gabriel had no idea how Sam Winchester overpowered the Devil. That in itself made Gabriel give the kid mad props. Michael had been a fool, for all of his cunning. Going after Adam had been a low-blow, but it had worked—but for what? Even in the end, Michael just couldn't—wouldn't—let go. He got his ass locked up in the Cage right alongside their damned brother and—

Where did that leave the rest of them?

He missed his Father. He missed his brothers. There had been brighter, better times, where they had fulfilled their responsibilities—he the messenger, Lucifer the beloved light-bringer, Michael the warrior and Raphael the healer—and their Father loved them all.

But then Father left. Lucifer Fell and Michael forced them all to decide where they would stand. Gabriel watched as Heaven was torn in half, as were their loyalties, as Lucifer was cast into Hell and Heaven began its one-way descent toward the destruction of Man. Gabriel had been left at the wayside as everything he had taken for granted as perfection crumbled.

So he ran. Far, far away. Changed his name, his purpose, his identity—but his destiny, he had thought, was the same. He would always be there to announce the End and he would always be doomed to watch his brothers rip each other to shreds.

If the Winchesters had taught him anything, damn them, it had been the fact that family was something indomitable and unchangeable. Destiny was not. Destiny could be broken. Gabriel never would have believed it, if he hadn't taken part in changing it himself. He had been the one who was supposed to signal the start of the end. Lucifer had killed him instead. He had, even in those final moments facing his brother, never imagined actually striking a killing blow, or receiving one. Because… that wasn't how it was supposed to be.

It had happened, though. Many things happened that had never been part of the plan. Sam said yes, but he fought and took back control. Dean said no, and was still forced to watch his brother die. Lucifer had been the one to offer peace and Michael had been the one to go on with their battle to the death. In the end, the world survived—and Michael and Lucifer fell, together.

Tucking his hands into his vessel's pockets, Gabriel desperately wanted to laugh at how it all turned out, but he didn't. He owed them that much.

Gabriel knelt and touched the bare earth. He didn't feel anything through the dirt. He tried to imagine he was reaching down into the Pit, not to give anyone there aid, but rather, to show, despite everything, Gabriel was still there. Whether or not that mattered to Michael or Lucifer, he didn't care. It mattered to him.

Standing back, he flew to Sioux Falls, where he should have been, and would be, because he had his own mission to handle. He wasn't going to kill Raphael and he wasn't going to confront him. But Gabriel was not going to be on the sidelines anymore. Not after everything that had happened to them all.

"Where the hell were you?" Bobby Singer demanded when the angel appeared in front of him outside the house.

Gabriel glanced back at the imposing building and then smirked. "Catching up."

The human gave him a look that showed how much the natives really trusted him. Gabriel was silently glad they didn't. He didn't trust his brothers anymore and neither should the humans.

Looking upward, Gabriel pondered their chances. He had spent millennia on the run. Now, for ten months, he was standing still and for some reason, that was helping.

He wasn't anything like his brothers. That, if anything, had remained consistent from the very beginning. So, he stayed. Because he knew his brothers wouldn't have.

**0000**

**Montana**

Montana never ran out of winding, empty roads. Dean drummed his fingers absently on the wheel. He hadn't turned the radio on for some reason. It felt a little weird doing that when Castiel was right there. He knew the angel wasn't overly fond of the music Dean was fond of. After Castiel had helped back at the bar, Dean figured he earned some radio (or anti-radio) rights.

"Alright, where are we going?" Dean asked after a long time of silence. Comfortable silence, but it was still silence. "Oregon, still?"

Castiel had been content looking at scenery, but seamlessly looked over at Dean, as if they had been having a conversation the entire time since they left Ekalaka. "Yes, from all the remaining intelligence we've gathered, that seems to be the only key location so far," the angel confirmed. "There haven't been any omens or other large supernatural signs."

Dean scoffed. "What, these douches just hang around where Jesse is, hoping he'll talk to them?" The idea of running into a hoard of demons who were trying to start something (an Apocalypse Part Two-something) was not very appealing. Then again, the chances of running into Jesse without that hoard of demons were more than impossible.

"If he hasn't already," Castiel answered, characteristically grim.

"Don't be such a Negative Nancy." Before the angel could complain that his name wasn't 'Nancy,' Dean returned to the topic at hand. "So, that's all we really have t go on? Demon conventions?"

Castiel looked tired again. "Yes… there's really no other explanation. It's been happening in spurts and starts, but it's consistent."

Sighing heavily, Dean scowled. "Great." If there were only a way to cheat their way through this. There weren't summoning spells they could use on the un-findable Antichrist. It wasn't like they could poof an angel into the hoard of demons and hope Jesse wouldn't see it as an attack. It wasn't like they had some knowledge of where the kid would be nex—

And then, a thought struck him. It hit him so hard, he slammed on the breaks and nearly landed in the ditch. Castiel didn't seem fazed by the sudden stop, but fixed Dean with a questioning look.

"Holy _hell_," Dean exclaimed, whipping around in the seat before Castiel could say anything.

"What?" the angel demanded, bewildered.

Dean almost wanted to scream. "Have you tried talking to Chuck?" he asked.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "The Prophet?" he repeated.

"He could tell us whether or not this is serious or not!" Dean shouted, angry with himself and the morons upstairs for not thinking of it before. Chuck could see the freaking future—of course he would be useful for this now! "I mean, Jesse as a threat, plus our own plan. Damn it! Why didn't we think of that? !"

So many concerns flashed through his head. Had the angels figured it out before hand and asked Chuck about any tricks they might have pulled? Chuck's prophecies could help the newer and less improved Team Free Will but it could also damn them all.

"Dean…" Castiel began. His grim expression did not make Dean feel better. He kept going, however. "We have considered seeking the Prophet for insight, but…" The angel _shrugged_. "His home has been abandoned. We have no idea where he has gone."

"Damn it!" Dean hissed. He ran his hand over his face, aggravated. It was good Raphael couldn't use Chuck, but at the same time, they could have used the insight. Looking over at Castiel, Dean frowned. "Do… do you think Raphael could have done something?"

After all, Raphael was supposed to be the guy watching over Chuck. Then again, with the war in Heaven, it was possible the writer could have slipped away unnoticed.

"I'm not sure what to think, Dean," Castiel replied, shaking his head, as Dean started up the Impala again, starting forward on the road again. "Perhaps he just wanted to leave and not be disturbed."

Dean scowled, trying to keep calm. "Can't you sense him?"

Castiel closed his eyes, though Dean knew he would have tried looking earlier. "…No," Castiel said after a moment. "It is possible another angel, like Raphael, placed him somewhere else."

Thus confirming Dean wasn't alone in thinking that. "Shit!" Sighing heavily, Dean glared out at the road in front of them. "Coulda used some insight, Chuck, wherever you went."

Castiel didn't say anything as Dean vented his anger by driving the shit out of the asphalt for the next ten minutes. Dean was ready to call it quits already and it wasn't even three o'clock. Time was always going to hang over them like some hangman's noose, taunting and menacing. Chuck's prophecies could have changed everything—

"I…" Castiel began suddenly, earning Dean's attention, "could always try to go see if his belongings are back at his house."

"What good would that—oh." Dean blinked, realizing what the angel meant. "You mean, you'll try to see if he left any prophecy pages out."

That… could work, too. Either that, or they manned up and called Becky. Dean wasn't sure if she was aware of the last few events of the "Winchester Gospel" but if she had information, Dean could put up with her nonsense.

"It might help," Castiel admitted. "Or at least, we can find some indication of where he went."

Dean's head was beginning to ache, but at least they had a semi-plan other than just driving westward. "Yeah…" he muttered. He glanced at the rear-view, suddenly realizing Chuck lived several states back behind them. "Geez, that's in the completely different direction."

He had almost forgotten a key fact about his traveling companion. Specifically: oh, hey, he can fucking fly. "I will go, Dean," Castiel said, inclining his head. "Keep driving, but once you get to a motel, call me, so I know where to find you."

Well, that was abrupt. It had potential as a plan of action though. It was really all they had. "Right," Dean agreed. He glanced at Castiel, unsure of whether to stop the car, or just let the guy fly out like he usually did. "Uh—good luck."

Castiel nodded, business-like as always. "You, too."

With that, he vanished, as if he had never been there in the first place. Dean kept his eyes on the road, withholding a sigh.

He reached over and turned the radio on. It wasn't playing Led Zepplin anymore, but it was still good for background noise.

_Oregon… eight-hundred miles left to go. Great._

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_**Next**_**: Deborah reflects, Gabriel is a good (?) babysitter, and Castiel plays detective.**

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	6. Week 3

_**Revelations**_**  
Week Three**  
By Nan00k

Deborah and Gabriel have a chat and Castiel plays detective. Chuck's "story" has been shamelessly copied from the actual episode's transcripts. XD

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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**Chuck Shurley's House**

The house was secure. There were no signs of forced entry, nor were there any lingering demonic or angelic auras anywhere near the building. There weren't any cars in front of the sidewalk. Castiel gave the neighborhood a cursory glance. Nothing was out of place or suspicious.

Chuck's house loomed ahead, dark and strangely empty looking. Castiel didn't know quite what to expect walking up there, but he didn't feel threatened. He couldn't give Raphael or any of their remaining enemies the upper hand, however. He approached with well-deserved caution.

If Dean were there, he would have picked the lock. Castiel mere forced the lock open without touching it. The fact that the door was locked could mean a lot of things. From what he learned from procedural cop shows Sam had forced him to watch not that long ago, that either meant Chuck was dead inside or he had left, locking the door behind him.

Castiel's own experience added the theory that he was whisked away via some supernatural means from the inside. The idea of Chuck lying there dead was a bit ridiculous, because someone in Heaven would have put out the alarm, even if Raphael was too busy to watch his charge.

The foyer was devoid of movement. Castiel shut the front door behind him cautiously. There was a second floor plus the entirety of the first floor. He wasn't sure if there was a basement, but he started on the second floor anyway. There wasn't anything suspicious there either.

Heading down the creaking steps, Castiel inspected the rest of the house. Spoiled food remained in the refrigerator. All of his possessions seemed in place. There were no signs of a struggle or kidnapping. It didn't even look like he had left on a trip.

It was like he had just up and vanished, as Dean might say.

"Chuck?" he called out. Nothing answered back. The house was silent.

He found Chuck's computer on the dining room table. It was off, from what he could tell, but he wasn't sure. There was a bright green light flashing on the one side, if that meant something. Walking over, he saw other sheets of paper piled up around the laptop. Prophecies.

Skimming them, Castiel knew none of it was recent or anything they hadn't seen before. There wasn't much to go on anywhere, really. Chuck was just _gone_.

They had few options. Perhaps they should contact Chuck's loyal servant, the Becky woman Dean and Sam mentioned. She might have information on Chuck's location. It was an idea.

Castiel meant to put the papers and reference books down where he had picked them up, but he wound up hitting one of the keys on the laptop. With an abused whine, the machine started up, shining shockingly bright in the once-dark room. Castiel didn't need to adjust his gaze like a human would have; he could see words on the screen.

Chuck's last prophecy?

Leaning forward, Castiel was hesitant about using the machine. He was not familiar with the technology. His old vessel wasn't inclined toward them either, but Castiel could remember bits and pieces. He knew to move the attached 'mouse' to move the pointer, which controlled buttons on the screen. He was more interested in what the text read.

The beginning made little sense, at least at first. Castiel read every word, even when the words became difficult to digest.

_There was a big ceremony, speeches. The lieutenant governor even showed up. Three days later, another car rolled off that same line. No one gave two craps about her. But they should have, because this 1967 Chevrolet Impala would turn out to be the most important car—no, the most important object—in pretty much the whole universe._

_She was first owned by Sal Moriarty, an alcoholic with two ex-wives and three blocked arteries. On weekends, he'd drive around giving bibles to the poor "gettin' folks right for judgment day. That's what he said. Sam and Dean don't know any of this, but if they did, I bet they'd smile._

_After Sal died, she ended up at Rainbow Motors, a used-car lot in Lawrence, where a young marine bought her on impulse. That is, after a little advice from a friend. I guess that's where this story begins._

_And here's where it ends._

It was the whole thing, from beginning to finish. That day in Detroit… and then in Kansas. Castiel read the entire chapter—the last one—even though with every word, he felt strange disjointed from the rest of his surroundings.

"_You're angry."_

_Dean grit his teeth and stared out at the lonely road, gripping the wheel tightly. "That's an understatement."_

_Castiel sent him a look of reproach. "He helped. Maybe even more than we realize."_

Castiel stared at screen, unsure of how to react.

"_That's easy for you to say," the hunter began, voice rising to a shout. "He brought you back. But what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole!"_

The cursor on the screen blinked until the angel lowered it further, for the last page of the script.

"_You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise. No Hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace, or freedom?"_

The top of the laptop was gently, quietly, pushed downward. The light in the room vanished with the closing of the computer, leaving Castiel in the pitch-black room alone. He was no closer to finding Chuck, but that didn't matter if the Prophet had truly wanted to be undiscovered.

He was not going to show Dean the computer.

Castiel left the house empty-handed. They hadn't lost anything they didn't have before, at least. He would let the human authorities handle the empty house, if they ever noticed the empty dwelling. Dean wasn't going to be happy, but Castiel knew that reading even that last bit would not sit well with the hunter. Wounds, as they said, were still mending for him.

When he tried to call Dean to get his new location, he was met with a sound that told him (if he remembered correctly) that Dean was already on the phone talking to someone. The only people that could have been were Bobby, or Deborah. He hoped it wasn't serious, whatever it was. Castiel would just have to wait until Dean called him.

"_You got what you asked for, Dean."_

Closing his eyes, Castiel tried to pretend Dean would forget in time—everything that had happened and was said that day.

Standing under the spotlight-lit sidewalk, he waited for the phone call.

**0000**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

She wasn't panicking. That was good. That was always a good thing, even when angels and demons weren't involved.

Deborah didn't expect it to be easy, any of it. Walking into Bobby Singer's home was like walking onto the moon. She was stuck there for the next ten months, having a baby in a stranger's home. Bobby wasn't bad by any means; he kept his distance mostly and was always kind. Dean had warned him not to ask her questions (thank goodness; she was a horrible liar), so when they did talk, it was at meals and the few other times their lives intersected.

Bobby had his own chores and that left Deborah, at least for the first two weeks, to unpack at her own pleasure. The home was very large, but she picked a small bedroom upstairs. It had everything she needed, really, but it was still terribly empty. She was used to a smaller home, with fewer rooms. It'd be one thing if other people lived there too, but… it was really just the two of them on the best of days.

She made the best of it. Cooking meals in repayment for allowing her to stay there, Deborah managed to get some people-time in, even if it was just with a cranky old "hunter." He never failed to have a story to tell her, and honestly, while the content matter was a bit disturbing (_vampires? shapeshifters?_), Deborah wanted to hear about it. The world of the occult was apparently very real and if she was involved in it, she wanted to know everything about it.

So, there were monsters. There were demons and angels, too. Dean and his late brother Sam had been raised as "hunters," and Bobby was one, too, though he was practically retired. They chased down and killed evil monsters and protected people who were being attacked by them. Deborah found it startling that so many of the urban legends and fantasy monsters she had heard of from movies and lore were real, but after her own close encounter with angelic creatures… she couldn't really doubt anything at this point.

Her days were remarkably monster-free, thankfully. Bobby's house was protected, by spells (which didn't need a witch to use, apparently) and an archangel hidden somewhere in the rafters. For the initial few days, Deborah had been kept busy moving her stuff in and buying supplies for the baby. She didn't want to dwell on the idea of not actually seeing this to the end and not needing the items, so she just focused on that. After that was nearly done, she had time to stand back and dwell on exactly how long ten months were going to be.

_Deep breaths, Deb._

That afternoon, she decided to make brownies. She wasn't really hungry, but Bobby had a sweet tooth and she felt like she owed the man something more than just three basic meals. He was doing his best to keep wards up and make sure the house was demon-proof. Plus, he was putting her up for room and board for the entirety of the pregnancy. That was a lot for a bachelor who was more used to slaying monsters than he was dealing with baby items. She would have to tell Dean about his foster-father's humorous reactions to the sight of the bassinet she had gotten at a flea market the other day…

The oven was still hot and she let the brownies cool on the counter as she started washing the dishes she had used. Going through the mechanical process of washing and drying, Deborah found herself slowing down… and suddenly… stopped.

…What the hell was she doing?

Standing there, ignoring the running water, Deborah tried to shake the eerie feeling that was slowly but surely creeping up her chest. She was trying to make this as normal as possible, but the truth was, it wasn't normal. It wasn't… sane.

For the first time since she got there, the numbing sensation of _hurryhurryhurry_ faded and she was left standing still… and utterly alone.

A baby? Holy wars? She was an _education_ major. She was going to be an elementary school teacher. She wasn't… involved with this sort of thing. She was lying to her parents, ruining her future, putting her neck out on the line—

All of that ran round and round her head and Deborah suddenly wanted to throw up.

Shaking, she shut the water off and stared at the sink. She had to snap out of this, now. There wasn't any turning back the clock and even if she could go back, would she really choose any different? She had seen—no, _felt_—how honest Castiel had been. He was really an angel, and they were really facing the end of the world. It wasn't fair, but it was happening.

But why did it have to be _her_?

Castiel had told her it was genetics. She was the right make and model for them to create a Savior, a holy child, to confront the Antichrist. Deborah knew exactly what that meant from her studies in faith. Three weeks ago, she would have been honored to have this happen. Who wouldn't? It was magical, blessed—

But then she had learned the flip side of that story, something even the Archangel Raphael hadn't refuted: by bringing the Savior into the world, they would be _causing_ the Antichrist. As in, if they didn't have a Savior, there wouldn't be an Antichrist. The world… would be okay. Not if they went through with this, however. It was all backwards and terrifyingly disturbing.

Why would Heaven want to destroy the world, if they could stop it? That was the one thing that kept coming back to Deborah when she reluctantly thought about it at night, after spending the entire day trying to avoid the topic. Where was God? Is this what he really wanted? Death? Destruction? Even if it brought peace—why would they willingly cause a fight that could easily be avoided?

She believed, she really did. God, Christ, angels, the saints—she believed in all of them. Because it was the right thing to believe in. She had lived a decent life, with no fooling around, and while she might have made little sins here and there, she was a good person. She never paid _Revelation_ much attention, and certainly not things like the end of the world. That… wouldn't happen, she told herself rationally. It was just a story for the faithful to use as a guide.

Apparently, it was more real and more dangerous than just a story.

Deborah refused to give up on God. He was there, watching them. He would help them. He helped her before and gave her strength in the darkest of times. Now… he would help again. She refused to believe anything different.

Hand resting on her stomach, Deborah prayed with all her heart that what she had done was part of God's plans, too.

"If only you weren't wearing slippers, I'd make a terrible joke about barefoot mothers and kitchens."

Gasping, Deborah spun around, hitting the counter as she backed away from the person who had miraculously appeared behind her. "_Oh_!"

Perhaps 'miraculous' was a bit too fitting. A short blond-haired man stood there, smiling innocently, even though he didn't fit the environment at all. It took Deborah a moment to recognize him, but when she did, she really didn't feel any better.

"Relax, sweetheart, before you give yourself a heart attack," Gabriel said, mockingly reassuring as he noted her shock.

"I—who are—oh," Deborah stuttered, eyes wide. She hadn't expected him to appear without a reason. Wasn't he supposed to be watching the house, in case of an emergency or if Raphael appeared? She didn't need him now, that was for sure. "You."

Gabriel snorted and his eyes twinkled. "Yes, indeedy." He grinned an incredibly cocky grin. "_Me_."

Deborah watched him carefully, not wanting to speak out of turn. She had no idea what to expect from him. Gabriel, almost her same height, didn't dominate the kitchen with some holy power. He dominated with his attitude, however; he was definitely not someone you could ignore.

"You're… really the archangel Gabriel?" she managed to say, forcing herself to stop pressing back against the counter. He was an _ally_, she mentally reminded herself.

It was strange, the way he smiled arrogantly. Castiel had never smiled, not once, in the short amount of time she had been around him. "Honey, if you're going to do the whole bow-down-and-worship thing, that's great, really, but I feel a bit awkward having a celestially impregnated woman trying to get down on bended knee," Gabriel said. "But feel free to bask in my glory, though. That's always healthy for everybody."

He reminded her of… a celebrity. No one specific, but he had that right amount of arrogance and self-confidence that made Deborah think of Hollywood. He looked rather plain, otherwise. However, Deborah knew, in his own right, Gabriel was a sort of celebrity. She used to _pray_ to him.

"…It's an honor to meet you," she said after a moment to collect herself.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "We already met, kiddo," he said. He sounded far more informal than Raphael or Castiel had. That struck Deborah as very, very strange. Out of the three angels she had met, Gabriel was one of the few she had heard of from the Bible. She expected him to be the most professional.

Clearing her throat, Deborah nodded. "I know…" she trailed off. She decided that maybe, she should be polite anyway, even if he reminded her more of a frat boy than an angel of the Lord. "I never had the chance to greet you formally."

The angel laughed. "Right, right. Kind of… spur of the moment, eh?" he said, amused by something. He grabbed one of the feeble looking kitchen chairs and sat down on it backwards. He grinned up at her, apparently deciding to stay. "So, what's happening? How you holding up, Momma?"

Deborah hadn't been expecting that. "I'm okay," she admitted, which was true. She really couldn't even think of a request for anything… other for this to have all been a dream, that is. Anything else was either already available or not essential. She did laugh, however, deciding to take up the company when she could. "It's weird. I'm not even that big, you know? But… mom says it's gonna change out of no where."

"Yeaaah, from what I recall, the days are just gonna fly by," Gabriel replied, making a soaring motion with his hand. He cocked his head to the side, grinning even more. "Since I'm super angelic babysitter extraordinaire today, anything I can get you?"

That… was not what she expected. Bobby had told her a few things about demons and the number one thing was not to accept deals. Did—did that count for angels too? "Uh—"

Gabriel leaned forward, either mockingly eager or honestly curious. "Massage? Chocolate? You gotta be craving something. I heard you females like pickles and peanut butter? You're disgusting, but hey, I've heard of worse."

All of that just made her laugh. "Ah, no, I'm good," she said, chuckling quietly. She glanced down at herself, amused. "Haven't had too many cravings so far, actually."

"That won't last," Gabriel warned, sounding quite sure of himself. He leaned back on the chair, still amused. He had seemed immature before, but now… it was difficult to remember he was actually an angel—an archangel at that.

Then again, he had been there at the first holy birth. Dean didn't seem fond of the angel, but Deborah had to give Gabriel some credit. "You'd think I'd crave things like… I don't know. Holy water?" she suggested, half-joking.

Gabriel burst out laughing. "Unlikely!" he said. He shook his head, as if he were dealing with the immature paranormal entity. "Ah, you kids crack me up."

Deborah smiled, feeling a little less awkward. He wasn't too bad to get along with. He wasn't really that different than some of the kids she had left behind in Maine.

_Oh, Lord_. She would have to call the school and formally drop out. The cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, the early stages of panic, filtered back down.

"Um… is there something I can get you?" she asked, suddenly not wanting to play games with the angel.

Gabriel's grin twisted into a strange, bemused smirk. He looked at her strangely, too. "Like what?" he asked. Suddenly, his eyes shifted from her face down to the counter, noticing something new. "…Are those brownies?"

It was almost comical, how he had shifted from mysteriously amusement to childish desire. Deborah laughed quietly, looking down at the pan of cooling brownies. "Yep. I was making some for Bobby, but you're more than welcome to have some." Suddenly, Gabriel was right next to her and was taking a slice of brownie literally into his open palm. Deborah gasped. "Ah, careful! They're hot!"

The look he sent her was full of patient disbelief. "Honey, you're talking to someone who can walk on the sun," he chided, ignoring her shock. He demonstrated by taking a large bite of brownie. He nodded appreciatively. "Not bad, not bad. Beats the craptastic ones you get in the wrappers at the food store."

Deborah blinked as he finished the entire slice in a few seconds. "…Angels go shopping?" she asked weakly. Inwardly, she realized that was probably a dumb question, but the image of Castiel in Wal-Mart buying groceries was a bit too good to pass up. Imagining either angel in a domestic environment was funny.

"Well, no, but I've done some taste-testing here and there," Gabriel admitted cheekily.

He finished off two more slices of brownies, but Deborah didn't mind. She was more intrigued by the concept that he was eating anything. Dean had warned her he had a sweet tooth, as opposed to Castiel who didn't eat at all (neither slept, too). It was strange, but nothing bad. Standing there, she had time to reflect on some other questions (after offering him a glass of milk, of course; he just laughed and shook his head).

"…You were there… with Mary?" she asked tentatively. She had no idea how much she could ask without stepping over some invisible boundary with any of them.

Gabriel paused—almost unnoticeably so. She still saw it. "…Yeah." The archangel grinned, arrogantly, covering up his hesitation smoothly. "Yeah, I was."

Deborah stopped herself that time. She wasn't sure how to phrase this. "…How… was it?" she asked haltingly.

"Her or the baby?" Gabriel asked, interrupting her weak question. He grinned, rolling his eyes. "I'll assume her, because, come on, _everyone's_ heard about the kid. No one ever asked about the poor lady who carried him."

That was a strange comment. Deborah wasn't going to argue with him on it, though; now that she was facing the same scenario (sort of), she definitely had a newfound respect for Mary.

"She must have had it hard, living in that time, before, well, conveniences like hospitals and doctors…" Deborah said, shaking her head. Oh, that must have been awful. She was sincerely glad she was not in some third-world country, or some first-century Jewish town. "Though I guess she had help from you guys?"

"Yeah, I was around _quiteeee_ a bit," Gabriel answered. He sounded, to her, unnaturally smug. "Joe wasn't too bad a guy, either. Dad had to knock some sense into the guy not to run off, but they managed to pull off the whole nuclear family bit pretty well for their day and age."

Was it strange how she could fit his description into biblical scripture? Deborah had wondered how accurate the teachings actually were after Dean practically tore it apart verbally before and Castiel let him. Maybe… things weren't too far off base, then.

…When they weren't busy, she was going to have to sit one of them down to ask other questions.

He was watching her silently. Deborah stared back, not sure how else to react. He was far more human than she had expected, really. He was more human than Castiel was. She wondered if that was because Gabriel had been on Earth longer—

"You're not complaining as much as I had expected," Gabriel suddenly said, breaking her train of thought. He said that plainly, without a smile. He was just making an observation.

"Did Mary complain?" she asked before she could even think twice. Deborah stopped, fearful she had gone too far. She couldn't believe she could actually ask about the Mother of God—

Gabriel's smirk returned. "She said yes, didn't she?"

Deborah looked at him and slowly nodded. "…And so did I."

"Under protest," the archangel corrected her, plopping down in his seat from earlier. He tilted his head, frowning childishly. The way he peered at her was like he was looking at some strange animal. "Huh. You little things always… confuzzle me. I like it."

She didn't like the way he smiled after that. She respected his position as an angel, but humans weren't things to be gawked at. She had that much self-appreciation, at least. "We didn't have a choice for how this turned out. I accept that," Deborah said out loud, distracting herself. She folded the dishtowel on the counter and put it back hanging on the stove handle. "I've made my choices. I just have to see them through."

She almost missed the pleased glint that shone in Gabriel's eyes after that comment. "We all do," he replied, far more serious that he had before.

Deborah stared at him. There was something off… about him being serious. It didn't suit him. And it was almost alarming, because if he of all people in this house spoke severely about their mutual situation… well, that sure as heck didn't make her feel better.

So, Deborah did the first thing that came to her mind. She offered comfort to an archangel.

"We'll be okay, Gabriel," she said, smiling reassuringly, the gesture partially aimed inward at herself, for as much good as that did. "We just need to…"

_Survive? Outlast the storm? Hang in there?_

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Have faith?" he asked. Ah, that was a good one. The archangel, however, looked away, not so much grinning as sneering. "Ha." Then, he sat back completely on the backwards chair, rolling his shoulders loosely. "Thanks."

"For what?" she asked, wary.

"Reminding me." Gabriel tilted his head, smirking. That look suited him the best. "Been a while since I thought about having something like that."

Deborah blinked—and then he was gone.

**0000**

**Western Montana**

Castiel didn't come back that night. Dean was half tempted to call the angel to make sure he was still alive, but he respected Castiel's ability to take care of himself. Also, if he had been captured, Dean knew he couldn't call, or else, he'd expose himself and they both would get screwed over.

So, he was sitting alone in another hotel room with a single bed and a cell phone in his hand. He should have done more research about the omens popping up over in Oregon. They were only a few days away at best. He could have called Bobby to see how things were back there. Or he could have called Castiel; the angel was taking too long.

But Dean didn't. He sat on the bed for what seemed like hours, staring at nothing. It didn't feel like he had been sitting there that long, but he didn't mind. He wasn't staring or thinking of much at all.

The silence crept up closer and closer. He knew he should have put the television on, but he couldn't bring himself to stand up and do anything but sit there. Dean had never felt so devoid of will to do _anything_.

He couldn't do this.

It was too quiet. It was too empty. He had to get his shit together—this was ridiculous. He had traveled alone for so long before Sam, but not like this. Not after watching him _die_—watching him jump into _the Cage_, willingly, knowing he'd never step out again—

He… couldn't _do_ this.

Maybe, Dean thought, absently, that's why his phone was in his hands. He didn't really remember taking it out of his bag. It sat in his hands like a lead weight. It taunted him with the few options he had left. He couldn't wish his brother back. He couldn't ask Castiel to stay at his side like some angelic nursemaid.

But there was still one person he could call. He didn't want to, but…

He couldn't go home again. It never had been home.

But he still… owed her something.

Dean dialed the number from memory, punching each digit on the phone slowly and deliberately. It took everything he had to raise the device to his ear as it rang. It was the only thing he could hear past his own heartbeat.

There was another ring and then silence. Then, a _click_.

"_Hello_?"

Dean swallowed back his fear and licked his lips nervously.

"Hi, Lisa."

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_**Next**_**: Jumping ahead three weeks, Cas and Dean make quick work of Oregon and run into other, more personal problems.**

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	7. Week 6

_**Revelations**_**  
Week Six**  
By Nan00k

Thanks for the reviews, guys! I've decided to skip ahead every few chapters. This story will have twenty-five chapters (including the prologue). :) I hope you enjoy them!

Today, Dean and Castiel talk, Gabriel deals with life among mortals, and someone stirs up trouble for Dean.

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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**Oregon**

There was nothing in fucking Oregon. Dean wasn't going to say anything at first, but after a week and a half of searching the state, even Castiel was beginning to look disheartened. Whether or not the demons had just been swarming for no reason, or Jesse had just disappeared to a new place and they had followed, it didn't matter. They weren't there anymore.

Dean wanted to curse and give up, but there was only one thing to do and that was to keep going forward. They had too much invested in finding that damn kid. Raphael was looking for Jesse as well and if he found him first… Castiel had warned Dean unnecessarily that if that happened, Raphael would easily jumpstart the apocalypse by attacking Jesse right away.

They could worry about finding him and averting said-apocalypse when they crossed that bridge. Dean was just tired and sick of Oregon.

"Screw it. Let's get out of here," he announced, unable not to be just a little irritable. Castiel had waited patiently in the Impala as Dean got gas. They were headed East again. "Please tell me you have an idea of where to go next."

"There haven't been any mass demon sightings or omens recently," Castiel answered, unapologetic, but clearly displeased by it as well.

Dean grit his teeth and withheld a long series of complaints and bitching. He wanted to blame someone for this turn of bad luck, but honestly? He couldn't have expected anything different and he knew it. Jesse Turner didn't want to be found and finding him against his wishes was next to impossible. They just… had to keep trying.

Castiel was silent as Dean seethed, probably feeling the human's agitation, but said nothing. Dean was grateful for it, but sometimes, Dean needed conversation.

Sam would have tried to distract him with legends of the Cambion situation or maybe his vast knowledge to figure out the key to finding the kid. But Sam wasn't there. All Dean had was a socially inept angel who was normally quiet anyway. Dean was grateful he still had at least one ally, but sometimes he wished Castiel was a little more human.

"You know," he began, trying to break the silence, "you never did tell me what you found at Chuck's."

The angel was quiet, but Dean could tell he was just trying to figure out what to say. "…I didn't find anything," he replied at last. "I said that before."

Dean laughed sharply. "You're a bad liar," he said, only partially in jest. Castiel had been abnormally awkward about the visit to Chuck's, saying only that he didn't find anything important. Dean had wondered what it was, but he had to trust at least Castiel to not try to pull a fast one. "I trust it wasn't about Jesse, though."

"It wasn't." Castiel blinked and then his eyes narrowed as he realized Dean tricked him into admitting he had found something at least. Dean smirked triumphantly.

"What was it?" he goaded. Castiel wouldn't keep something really important from him. At least, Dean hoped he wouldn't.

The angel didn't bend under the pressure of the questions. "It was nothing of importance."

"Liar."

Castiel made a soft sound that sounded suspiciously like a sound of exasperation. "Dean," he said shortly. He struggled to speak, most likely trying _not_ to sound like an ass. "It was…"

Dean didn't feel anything was wrong about what Castiel had seen until a full minute had passed and the only sound in the car was from the outside, where the rain-covered highway disappeared under their tires.

Almost as if letting go of a long-held breath, Castiel nodded his head slightly. "The last chapter. Of his novel," he said. "Detroit and afterwards."

All the sound that remained was the sound of the tires running over the slick asphalt again. Dean watched the lines on the road vanished out of sight, driving, but not really seeing anything.

"Oh," he managed to say, a thousand more thoughts and feelings flying by inside his mind.

Castiel folded his hands in his lap. "I did not think you would want to read it," he said quietly.

For once, Dean thanked the angel for knowing his boundaries.

He didn't want to talk or think about it.

"…Whatever," Dean said, forcing himself to speak louder. "I don't care about his book shit if it doesn't have something useful about the future. I already know the past."

Nodding, Castiel agreed to drop it. "Exactly."

It was easier to say it. Dean suddenly didn't want to hear anyone talking now. He focused on driving, wishing it was later so he could have just stopped for a motel room to get wasted in. Castiel was thankfully silent again and the drive was uninterrupted.

For a while. Dean almost didn't hear the buzzing of his phone going off in the backseat, underneath his jacket where he had thrown it. He hadn't expected a call that afternoon, considering he had told Lisa specific times he'd be available and not on the road.

He ignored it.

That only worked for a few more seconds. Castiel shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Dean? Your phone is ringing." Captain Obvious, to the rescue.

Dean didn't even look at the angel or the backseat, where his phone was laying. "Yeah, I know."

Silence followed. "…Why aren't you answering it?" Castiel asked, desperately trying not to sound awkward and failing.

"It's Lisa." Dean cleared his throat. He didn't want to talk about this now. "I'll call her back later."

Almost diabolically, Castiel didn't seem to take the hint to shut up. "You have been talking to her more," he noted.

His grip on the steering wheel subtly tightened. "Yeah."

The phone finally stopped buzzing and Castiel seemed intrigued. _Goddamn it._ "How are she and Ben doing?" Castiel asked. That was about as polite as the angel got, considering he could have just popped on over there to check himself if he actually cared.

"Fine," Dean bit out, doing his best to passively show much he really didn't want to talk about it.

Just when Dean thought it was safe, Castiel ruined it. "You're testy," the angel commented, almost accusingly severe with his absurd word choice.

Dean shot his friend a heated look. "You know, you're sure being nosy today, aren't you?" he snapped, more annoyed than he should have been.

Castiel averted his gaze calmly. "It's merely conversation." Ironic.

"No, it's an interrogation," Dean said, agitated. He glanced at Castiel repeatedly. "_Your_ turn, Cas. How are things in Heaven? They get us any actually decent leads?"

The angel hesitated slightly before hopping onto the change of conversation willingly. "Nothing yet. Heaven is still politically on thin-air—," he replied, speaking awkwardly again.

"Ice," Dean corrected automatically.

Castiel glanced at him but continued, "—but Raphael is being surprisingly open to change and advice. He is happy we have conformed to his designs."

"Ha. Right," Dean said, bitter. "What about news on Jesse?" He hoped they'd get something soon. Driving around aimlessly was too—too nostalgic. He was sick of nostalgia.

"Nothing new has come up, unfortunately." Castiel sent him a decently apologetic look. "I am sorry. Oregon was a false lead."

Dean exhaled sharply. "We keep looking. That's all," he said, as if it were a simple matter. Nothing about this, them or their lives was simple. It never was.

Castiel nodded anyway, agreeing silently to pretend everything was just sunshine and roses. "Yes."

Everything was so heavy to contemplate anymore. It had been so much simpler—so much easier—to just hunt monsters, not saving the world or something crazier. Dean needed to kill something soon, praying for some kind of monster that could die and could be found, without the risk of a cataclypsm hanging overhead.

The only thing the universe saw fit to give him now was a silent car ride southeast without a clear destination in mind or a hope to keep them going strong.

Dean hated living like this.

"Cas?" he asked, struggling to stay focused on _now_ rather than the what-ifs of the past. They had to stay focused. They—_had_ to.

The angel turned and met his eyes fearlessly, strong, as always. "Yes?"

Dean swallowed back unwanted feelings, like he had been doing for the best of two months now. "Thanks for not showing me the chapter," he said, honest.

Castiel's eyes, usually wide and unexpressive, crinkled at the edges. "I couldn't work the printer anyway," he replied simply.

The almost-joke caught Dean by surprise. "…Ha. Right." He looked away, smiling, despite everything.

They drove on in a silence far less stifling than it had been. Dean did his best to remember how to breathe.

**0000**

Castiel left as usual when nightfall came. Dean was glad the angel didn't have to sleep, because he really didn't want to have to worry about making sure his friend got rest in between hopping planes of existence. Dean could instead focus on forcing himself to getting some sleep. They would be leaving Oregon that next day, traveling south until something else popped up.

When that would be… Castiel couldn't offer many clues. Dean didn't like hanging around like that, but in the meanwhile, he guessed they could just keep looking for cases instead. There would always be monsters out there to hunt. It would keep him sharp, anyway.

That night, Dean couldn't get to sleep. He kept thinking about the things he should have been doing and he couldn't. He thought about calling Bobby, since it wouldn't have been that late back in South Dakota, but there wasn't really a point to it. Maybe he'd call tomorrow to see if Bobby knew of a case nearby…

It was nearing one AM when Dean threw back the covers and left the motel room. He needed fresh air. The area he was in wasn't very developed, but he wasn't looking to get drunk. He just—needed a distraction.

If Sam had been there, Dean would have to explain why he was so restless. Dean was glad he didn't have to explain, because he couldn't, not even to himself. He just wanted to move. Run, even. Staying still was like being in a cage.

Huh. Cage. How ironic.

Dean was glad it was September now. The cooler air from the mountains was a relief and he didn't think twice about leaving his jacket behind in the room. Maybe he could convince Castiel to join him in California for an actual day on the beach. He was pretty sure the angel had never even heard of the word "vacation" however—

He almost missed the growl behind him. The back of his neck tingled, so Dean turned around, expecting to see someone—

And he was greeted by four.

_Oh, shit._

They didn't waste time with introductions. Dean reached for his knife, always at his side, but he didn't move quick enough for the first demon. He could see their black eyes glinting in the darkness as the possessed man flung himself at Dean with a yell. Dean was knocked down hard when the body hit him, but he managed to pull the knife out.

The demon howled when he plunged the knife into its neck. In a flash, it was dead and Dean scrambled to his feet. He had to get back to the Impala—a ridiculous twenty yards back in the motel parking lot—or get somewhere he could set up some kind of defensive position so he could call Castiel—

Something sharp sliced into his side and he bit back a scream of pain as he was thrown to the ground again. Looking up, he could see his blood glistening on the clawed hands of one of his attackers. They lunged and Dean managed to catch the demon's arms. The two rolled across the pavement and a fist slammed into Dean's head. He ignored the pain and tried to keep a grip on the knife. If he could just pin the fucker and use the knife—

Over the roar of adrenaline in his ears, a voice cried, "Sammy says hi, Dean!"

Dean stopped.

That was the worst thing he could have done, in hindsight. Below him, the demon moved. Dean felt a blade slide neatly into his left side, pain cascading over him like a tidal wave seconds later. He yelled out and tried to twist away, slashing out with his own weapon. The demon howled in its own pain, retreating.

Blood seeping out through a clumsy hand, Dean numbly tried to re-orientate himself. There was two demon to his right, one to his left—it lunged and he tried to dodge. He felt large hands grip into his shoulder painfully and—

Dean had no chance to scream when the demon's own blood suddenly strayed out and splashed him in the face, eyes and mouth. There was a terrible screech, which was followed by more screaming as one by one, something took out the remaining demons. Dean fell to the ground and tried to blink away the blood, unable to do much more.

_Ouch._

There was a gurgle and then silence. Footsteps, light and familiar, made their way back over to where Dean was lying prone. He managed to lift his hand to wipe away most of the blood and when he finally looked up, he saw Castiel kneeling overhead.

"Dean, are you alright?" the angel asked, concerned, not a drop of blood on him.

Dean stared. "Cas…" he managed to say, his mouth bitter and dry. He hadn't swallowed any blood, but damn did it taste like shit. Peering around behind Castiel, he saw the remains of the other demons. "Holy… _crap_."

Castiel glanced back at the bloody mess and grimaced. "I didn't think I'd have to time to excise them first. They will heal," the angel assured him. He then turned back to Dean, frowning. "You're injured."

"Yeah…" Dean looked down at himself and saw half of his own blood covering the parts of his shirt the demon blood wasn't on. "Oh." That sucked.

As if he were withholding a sigh, Castiel said, "Hold still."

The angel reached down and touched Dean's shoulder. Almost instantly, the burning pain shooting up that arm and the dulled pain in his head vanished. The agony in his side was gone as well. Dean didn't have to inspect the injuries to know they weren't there anymore.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, adjusting his blood-covered jackets as he stood up. He wasn't about to get prissy and ask the angel to clean his clothes now either.

Castiel did his not-shrug thing, either attempting to imitate human behavior or it was just instinctual. "Don't mention it. Why didn't you call for me?" he asked, sounding curious rather than concerned. Dean was grateful for that.

Trying to remember how to think, Dean cleared his throat as they made their way back to the motel. He felt like he was walking on rubber legs. "I, uh, didn't think you'd hear," he answered. "The wards on me, and everything."

"Right." Castiel did his best impression of raising an eyebrow. "There is something called a cell phone."

Dean shot Castiel a glare. "I was kind of fighting for my life. Jesus, Cas." Since when did he know sarcasm? _Great_.

"Sorry," Castiel replied, not meaning it. He gestured toward the motel calmly. "Come on."

He didn't offer to help Dean get to the building and Dean was glad for that at least. Stumbling by the door after he opened it, Dean tried to turn around to get back to the Impala, remembering something.

"I should set up some wards or get stuff from the car—" he started to say.

Castiel gently ushered him into the room, ignoring the statement. "I'll stand watch," he said simply. "Take a shower."

Well, that was logic that Dean couldn't argue with. He left Castiel standing by the table and spent the next twenty minutes trying to get the demon blood off his skin and out of his hair. His clothing would be a bitch to clean up, but he'd worry about it later.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked automatically, eyeing Dean with a blank look when the human walked out, dressed for sleep. Dean was almost fluent in angel-expressions, however. This one particular one said, _You had better tell me the truth, you dumbass._

So of course, he lied. "Cas…" Dean exhaled sharply. "I'm fine."

Castiel stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he tilted his head to the side and frowned. "Liar."

Dean glared at him. He felt like shit and wasn't really interested with dealing with—with this.

"I can take it from here," he said briskly, throwing his towel onto the floor and shutting the lamp off near the table. The only light in the room was the lamp on the nightstand. The shadows in the room were all over the place now.

Castiel frowned deeply and the dim lighting made the gesture seem even more intense. "You can't stay up to watch for attacks and sleep at the same time," he chided.

"You offering to stay the whole time?" Dean shot back, not meaning it. Castiel tilted his head at the comment, however, and for a moment, Dean was afraid the angel was actually going to take him up on it. He didn't want a fucking babysitter.

"Would you rather me not?" Castiel asked, as Dean pointedly didn't look at him as he climbed into bed.

"Do whatever you want, Cas," he said, not caring if he sounded harsh. He was done with caring about anything. He didn't wait for Castiel's response or expression.

He hit the light and tried to imagine as he sank into the scratchy sheets and lumpy mattress that he was a million miles away from anything else. He tried to think about past hunts, successes and—

The last thing he really remembered thinking before the bliss of sleep were his brother's eyes peering into his right before he jumped into Hell.

**0000**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Life on Earth was different when he was using his real identity for once rather than that of a Trickster.

A lot of things had changed. Politics, the media, what was hip and what was not; he had no idea what the hell a Snookie was until Deborah invited him to watch what amounted to the most terrifying moments of television experience he had ever sat through. He was never going to New Jersey, ever again, even if his favorite tree god lived there. It gave him a dozen new ideas on how to torture wrongdoers, though; he wished he had heard of the show prior to that run in with the Winchesters a year back. It would have been a hilarious thing to see them survive indeed.

A lot of things were the same. The food was still good and the people were all the same. Gabriel liked the people. A lot. Sure, some needed a swift kick in the ass, but he wasn't going to begrudge them that now, especially after seeing how his _own_ people behaved as of late. The two people closest to him now weren't terribly interesting, but they made do.

Bobby was… fun. The human was not afraid to say whatever was on his mind and that amused Gabriel to no end. He had no love for Gabriel, either because he was an angel or because of how they had first met at that college. Still, the old man let Gabriel hang around when he pleased to, instead of just keeping an eye on the place from the outside. And by "let," Gabriel meant that Bobby just hadn't found a Enochian spell strong enough to keep an archangel out of places he didn't want him in.

"Stay the _hell_ out!" Bobby yelled, after discovering Gabriel snooping in his desk drawer. Gabriel had been looking for something interesting to do that day, considering Deborah got boring after a while.

When Gabriel promptly refused to leave the house, Bobby pulled out a shotgun and blasted the angel literally out the front door with repeated shots. Gabriel was too busy laughing about it to really mind and he got sweet revenge a few moments later when Deborah came running in and threw a royal fit about the violence.

Gabriel then proceeded to magically turn all of Bobby's clothing inside out up in his chest of drawers. Gabriel was enjoying dealing with humans, even if they weren't nearly as fun as the Winchesters were.

He kind of missed them, in a they-completely-screwed-my-new-life-over kind of way. Sure, they had gotten him killed with their plans, but he couldn't really blame them for his actual demise. He had been the one to challenge his brother, no one else.

They had been amusing, too. He especially missed Sam, who was just too good at angsting and making melodramatic seem like an understatement. He was just the perfect person to torment. Gabriel also couldn't deny he was mildly impressed with the dedication both boys had, going as far as they had.

Dean could be just as dramatic and sulky, but their tastes were too alike. Gabriel found it difficult to come up with ways to torture the already tortured soul, especially now that his one weak link—Sam—was gone.

It was almost ironic that the loss of Dean's brother had also been the loss of Gabriel's brothers. They really were alike, it seemed.

Dean was out adventuring for the Antichrist with Castiel, who was probably the least interesting but most trustworthy brothers Gabriel had left. They would be okay. Gabriel kept his end of the bargain and hung around Singer's house. There were only two humans there to entertain him, but for now, it would do. He enjoyed people watching, and while Bobby was only interesting when angered, Deborah was far more interesting from afar.

The girl was getting antsy. Gabriel noticed it slowly building up in her, but he was a pro at figuring out human behavior, unlike most of his brothers. Deborah was remarkably—almost _inhumanly_—calm about what was going on. Gabriel was grateful for that, considering he'd take a calm kid to watch over a hysterical one, but he knew that it was only a matter of time.

The panic building behind her eyes was deliciously reminiscent of the days Gabriel would _feast_ off of emotions like those. His days as a Trickster were over but never far from memory. He had spent the last two thousand years being Loki, after all. It hadn't overridden his angelic programming, so to speak, but habits died hard.

It was hard not to make things worse when he saw her glancing out windows like a cornered animal, or when she thought she was alone and she whispered reassurances to herself. Gabriel triumphantly held back the snark and teasing he wanted to dish out. Even he knew that wouldn't be appropriate (maybe in a few more months).

That said, Gabriel found it increasingly unnerving when he heard her prayers filtering through his mind sometimes. They were never directed at angels. Gabriel had been surprised he still picked up prayers at all, after so many centuries as a Pagan god, but some things were just ingrained.

_Please God… please help us with this._

Gabriel closed his eyes and said nothing, neither to dampen her spirits nor to lighten them. God wasn't going to answer her anymore than he would, either.

Sometimes, Bobby would complain about the ex-Trickster lounging on his couch or messing up his bookshelves, but even the old hunter knew there were reasons for the angel to stick around. Namely, other angels.

Gabriel could _feel_ his remaining older brother moving. Raphael had never been his favorite, even when their family was still a family. He loved him of course, but they never agreed on anything, especially this whole world-ending thing. Raphael was taking charge completely in Heaven now and with Castiel backing down from command, things were running smoother. Gabriel refused to take up the full mantle of being the Messenger again (he sometimes used it as a ruse lately to jump up there and take a sneak peek around at the old place) and for now, Raphael wasn't pushing it.

He knew, though, that wouldn't last. Gabriel knew Raphael too well to think the other archangel would ignore Gabriel's shirking of duty forever. Raphael would come calling on Gabriel to take up his old mantle and help fulfill Greater Plans. Heaven was being fixed and the world below was being prepped for destruction.

Gabriel wasn't going to let that happen, not after losing everything else. Because, in the end? Earth was all he had left.

So, he didn't find it strange or demeaning, walking through some mortal's home, contemplating redecorating the upstairs or asking a pregnant woman if she wanted to go watch some _Buffy_ while feasting on miracled candies.

It wasn't that strange at all.

"Are you staying for dinner, Gabriel?" Deborah asked from the kitchen doorway. Bobby scowled from the table, but said nothing.

His options weren't that much greater than hers, really. Glancing out the window as dusk rolled in, where he could see a hidden angel—very much not _theirs_—in the maze of cars and he could sense two more on the other side of the house, Gabriel turned back to the woman with a grin.

"Sure."

**0000**

"_What are you doing_?"

Dean threw another rock across the pond, watching it skip three times. He usually got four of five, but he was distracted by talking.

"We're looking for Jesse."

"_It doesn't look like you're doing anything to me_."

Sighing, Dean palmed another pebble. It wasn't flat enough to really fly across the water. He tried anyway and it sank on the second skip. Thought so.

"Well, it's kind of like looking for a needle in a haystack," he replied, frowning over his shoulder. "We're trying."

"_Yeah, _Cas_ is trying. You're just driving where he tells you to go_."

"Where Raphael's informants tell us to go," Dean corrected.

"_Right. Well, that's really getting you far_."

Dean scowled and tried another rock. The beach had a lot of decent ones for this. He got at least four and half skips that time.

"_I'm serious, man. You're not going to last if you keep pushing everything to the back burner_."

"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded, focusing on another throw.

"_You know _exactly_ what I mean, Dean_." The following long-suffering sigh made Dean stop. "_Lisa's being way more understanding than you deserve. You can't keep saying you'll call, but then ignore hers_."

Dean turned around and glared, feeling defensive. "We're a little busy saving the world, again, you know? I can't be the All-American Dad and a hunter. You know that."

_"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean you can't give her a little attention every once in a while."_

Dean wanted to argue, but he couldn't think of anything to really back him up. "I can't," he admitted, throwing his last pebble aimlessly into the water. He moved away from the pond's edge. "She doesn't get it that I'm not coming back, not for good. I… I don't belong with her or Ben."

Walking along the rocky beach, Dean stopped at a bench and sat down. The wood creaked beneath him and he sat back, exhausted.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said before he could think twice.

There was no reply. Tilting his head backwards, Dean stared upwards, weak.

"I don't know what to do."

Sam smiled, leaning forward next to him, bemused.

"_You're an idiot, Dean_."

Gasping, Dean jerked upright. He was in another motel bed, not a beach. Breathing heavily, he sat up and looked around, looking—what, he wasn't sure. There wasn't anything or anyone out of place in the room. Outside, the first dregs of sunlight were filtering through the blinds and early-rising drivers were soaring down the freeway.

He felt like he had just run a mile through sleet; the sheets were soaked with sweat and his skin felt clammy. Dean threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, not feeling right laying there. He wasn't going to get any more rest after that.

He hadn't dreamt of Sam at all since that day at Stull Cemetery. Thinking about him wasn't much better, but Dean was glad his dreams had been remarkably normal and drama-free lately.

_I can't afford to think about this now._

Gathering his wits and his remaining strength, Dean got up and got ready for another day of driving.

.

* * *

**End _Week Six_.**

**_Next_: Two brothers talk, Deborah finds cleaning to be hazardous, and Dean is stupid. As usual.**

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.  
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**A/Ns:**  
-"Tree God" – The Jersey Devil. They're total bros, man.


	8. Week 8

_**Revelations**_**  
Week 8**  
By Nan00k

I just wanted to clear some things up before we go any further: This story is about handling grief and moving forward after severe loss. Sam will _not_ be returning, at least not as he does in Season Six. Dean's not the only one moving forward here either; Gabriel has an overwhelming amount of angst to get out from under and Castiel is similar. D: It is dramatic and sad, but that's just how the plot has been designed. (There are happy times ahead, I swear!)

In this chapter, Castiel and Raphael talk, Deborah finds hazards in cleaning, and Dean is stupid. As usual.

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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**California**

He got the call when Dean was in the middle of transferring them both to California. Castiel hadn't really minded the abrupt change of location or goal ("Vacation, baby," Dean crowed), considering there had been no new news concerning Jesse's location. After promising to be back later that evening for a "night out" with Dean in San Francisco, Castiel left. They drove for quite some time to get there and Dean was looking forward to the break, so Castiel intended to keep his promise.

Somewhere far more north and chilly, Raphael stood waiting on the cliff side, barely casting Castiel a glance before looking back out at the sea. The sky was darkening and the sea was becoming a darker blue, but the sights weren't important here. Castiel kept all of his attention on his rival, not waiting for anything.

"What did you want, Raphael?" he asked, forcing his voice to be heard over the roar of the ocean below.

Raphael's vessel seemed incapable of bearing a smile. "You have stationed an archangel to watch over Deborah Garrison," Raphael replied. His voice carried over the noise easily.

Castiel stared, going over his answer carefully in his head before speaking. "…You were aware of this," he began, treading carefully. He didn't get closer. He just watched Raphael turn around completely, the wind blowing his vessel's jacket wildly.

"Who are _you_ to order Gabriel, the Messenger?" Raphael demanded, eyes narrowed. His entire frame radiated power and anger.

Castiel felt the instinctual need to grovel, to play the passive soldier. He was nothing compared to an archangel. Or at least, he used to be. God had granted Castiel new power; perhaps not enough to be equals with Raphael or Gabriel, but enough to remind Castiel he had no reason to grovel in front of this angel, or any other.

"I have not ordered anything of him," Castiel replied firmly. He knew the story he, Dean and Gabriel crafted that night backwards and forwards. "He volunteered the moment he found us and heard the situation." Castiel paused before adding, "It was he who convinced me to trust in your plans to start with, Raphael."

He knew that was a stretch, but Gabriel had agreed it would be best if it had been Gabriel's own idea to fold to Raphael's plans. Gabriel, at least, had both equal strength and political power as Raphael had, absence from Heaven or no.

Raphael bore his teeth in anger. "Gabriel forsook our family, our purpose, over a thousand years ago. He was killed because he wanted to fight destiny and now, he suddenly has found himself again?" the angel snapped. "Do not think that I am a fool, Castiel. I do not trust _either_ of you."

Castiel hadn't expected trust. It was still unsettling to be having this conversation so early into the plan. Raphael would never trust them, but they had to make him believe they were too weak to actually do anything against him, at least now.

"Why did you summon me here?" Castiel demanded instead, trying to figure out where he stood in this now. Surely Raphael hadn't called him to kill him outright now.

Thankfully, Raphael turned away. "I do not know if I can trust my brother enough to be so close to the new Savior," he said, his voice sharp.

A cold feeling swept through his body. "Gabriel is only there to protect the vessel and the child," Castiel began, now worried. He tried not to show it, however.

"He wards any other angels away," Raphael accused, fishing for a fight, as Dean might say.

Castiel fumbled mentally over what to say to that. Gabriel had said he had shooed several prying eyes away, but Castiel had hoped Gabriel would have been the one to explain this to Raphael, not him. Castiel was not a good spontaneous liar, Dean said. "He… does not trust any of us," he insisted. "He is merely asserting himself, Raphael. You know him better than I."

If Dean had been there, he might have gotten a look of approval for the apt deflection of the conversation. Castiel focused on the other angel, watching his reaction carefully.

Turning around slowly, Raphael met his gaze without faltering in the slightest. "I do. And I know Gabriel does not change his mind so easily," he began coldly. Below them, the sea shrieked. "I do not know what you are planning or how you could possibly hope to intervene in my plans now… but know this: you will not win. This world will meet its end as our Father ordered it and nothing you will do will stop it."

Castiel glared. "You know nothing of God, Raphael," he said, his tone scathing.

"And you do?" Raphael taunted, challenging, wanting to fight.

He couldn't fall for it. Not now. "If this was a warning to be passed onto Gabriel, it was pointless. Send it to him yourself. I am not your servant. I serve the Lord and the Lord only," Castiel replied firmly, unwilling to bend an inch in Raphael's favor. "If you are so worried about the future, you should focus on helping us find Jesse Turner, before he turns on us when the Savior is unprepared."

Raphael's anger returned with a passion. "You fight destiny as if you have something to win by defying it," he snarled. "What do _you_ have, Castiel, besides a broken human and a billion, hopeless others for company?"

Castiel force his hand to stay at his side. "I have my conscience." He clenched his jaw, the words burning in his chest. "That is all I need."

Raphael sneered before he took off, almost as if the gusts of wind around them had spirited him away. Castiel stood there in silence, listening to the waves and the sounds of the wind throw themselves all around him.

He had _nothing_, in truth, that he had had eons before. He only had what he had managed to create on Earth in the last two years of his existence left. That was it.

A broken human and a heavy heart that pitied a godless world.

Castiel unfurled his wings and flew back to San Francisco, praying to no one in particular for a way to save humanity from his own misguided kind.

He found Dean lying on an empty stretch of beach, at peace and smiling. Castiel smiled back, the gesture not a lie. He couldn't share his friend's carefree happiness, but it was pleasing to see that Dean had something to be happy over. If anyone deserved a moment of happiness, it was this human.

"Where did you have to go?" Dean asked, behind sunglasses and a cold bottle of beer.

Castiel looked out at the ocean, this part much calmer. "Nothing," he lied. Dean said nothing and let the angel prevaricate.

They sat on the beach all afternoon and Castiel allowed himself the moment to pretend they were allowed to have moments of peace. The sun beating down on his face, Castiel remembered heaven and that was enough.

**0000**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Bobby's house was a mess and yet comfortable. At first, Deborah had respectfully avoided mentioning how much dust there was on the shelves and furniture (oh, Lord, the second floor was disgusting and spookily empty). However, as the days turned into weeks and she began to really accept the idea she was bringing a _child_ into this world, she knew that politeness would have to take a back seat.

"It's a health hazard, you know?" she said, talking about it over breakfast one day. "Mom said dust is bad to breathe in when you're pregnant." She wasn't going to mention the amount of alcohol and other occult unmentionables stored in nearly every damn drawer and closet.

She had expected the older man to huff and get defensive (as he had when she critiqued the maze of rusted cars out back, because that was definitely a hazard waiting to happen concerning children), but Bobby seemed honestly agreeable to her worries, acknowledging the problem.

"I don't exactly have a lady around a lot to keep my habits in line. Never have folks over here too often either," he laughed. "Well, I guess that's one project we can tackle in the meanwhile."

Deborah readily accepted that task, letting Bobby handle the more sensitive items to clean (all of his magic supplies and books) while she handled the more domestic areas, like the bathrooms and upstairs. Her room had been cleaned already, so she worked on the guest rooms and the hallways.

When Castiel had heard about the matter from Dean, he had poofed over, upset the matter hadn't already been taken care of. Deborah waved away his concern and his offer to just magic the dirt away. They had plenty of time to clean the house, and honestly, she liked the distraction. It gave her a purpose at least and something to keep her mind off the fact that, well, any of this was happening.

That afternoon, she had spent most of the day washing the upstairs bathroom from floor to ceiling. It wasn't too moldy or anything, just rusty and a little grime. Deborah wanted to do that sort of heavy-cleaning now, before she got too far along with her pregnancy. Right now, her stomach was barely noticeable. She was going to enjoy that for as long as it lasted. She could just hear the truck-backing-up-noises and beach ball jokes from Gabriel now…

Part of her felt a little silly sloshing a tub when, somewhere out there, Dean and Castiel were fighting goodness knew what and were looking for the Antichrist, of all things. Deborah wasn't jealous they got the more dangerous job, but it didn't seem fair sometimes.

Then again, she thought coolly, it wasn't as if she had gotten off easy. She'd be lucky to make it out alive anymore than those two. They could at least fight _back_…

There was no use complaining about it, though. Sighing, Deborah sat back from the tub. It wasn't really sparkling, but it would do. She tried to imagine that if she took her time, she'd have the whole house spick-and-span by the time the baby arrived. She doubted it would span out for the next eight or so months but she could hope.

Suddenly, the idea of asking Gabriel to make a few "messes" every once in awhile seemed appealing. She wouldn't let Bobby know. He was rather territorial.

Bathroom completed for the day, Deborah decided to take a break and then work on dinner. Gabriel would poof in and out spontaneously throughout the week, but she always made enough in case he did decide to join them for dinner. Neither he or Bobby appreciated the vegetables, but at least they liked _most_ of her cooking. Her mind on recipes, she walked down the hallway, carrying only the bucket of cleaning supplies, aiming to turn to the closet where it was all kept—

And she walked right into something very, very sharp. Deborah gasped, panic, terror and confusion flaring up with unprecedented speed in her mind and body. She jerked back, hand covering her left arm immediately as the pain she felt became more coherent. Looking around wildly, she saw a glint of metal peer out from the bookshelf on the wall—a sword.

"Ah… oh…_God_." Deborah clamped down on her arm, eyes wide as the terror flushed out of her system.

Her hands haphazardly when down to her stomach, even though she knew the blade had only gotten to her arm. She couldn't bring herself to move away from that side of the hallway, however, and she just slid down the wall, trying to get as far away as possible on weak legs. That had scared the _living hell_ out of her and once she had the strength to get angry at Bobby for leaving that kind of weapon just sticking out, she'd—

"_What's wrong_?"

Deborah screamed when someone just appeared in front of her out of no where, without a single bit of warning. She fell backwards completely that time, heart racing again. It took her a moment to focus, but when she did, who she saw did not make her feel any better.

"G-Gabriel," she stuttered as the archangel whipped around and gave her probably the most serious look she had ever seen on the generally easy-going creature.

"You're injured. What happened?" he demanded. There was no nonsense in his voice, no mirth, no joke. His eyes were blazing and his entire body radiated a sort of aggression that suddenly reminded Deborah she was in the presence of a warrior of God.

"I—," she began, mind stumbling.

Gabriel reached out—or at least, she assumed he did; she didn't even see him move actually—and she was standing, his hands glued to her arms. He looked her up and down, finding the bloody gash where the sword had cut her.

"I hit the stupid sword," Deborah managed to say, still shaking, though it was probably from the rush of adrenaline. Was that bad for the baby?

Turning, Gabriel saw the sword and it was like he was analyzing everything there, taking it every detail, cataloguing it, like some cop at a crime scene. Deborah caught her breath and waited, knowing not to speak up when one of the angels were so… intense.

"Who's is it?" Gabriel suddenly demanded. He let her arm go and he went over to pick up the offending object.

Deborah shook her head. "Most likely Bobby's," she replied, weary now. "I just scared myself, Gabriel. It's okay. He was probably moving things around to clean up and forgot it was there. I didn't think to watch out for it."

"Hmm." Gabriel abruptly smirked, eyes on the blade as it shone in the florescent lighting. "Well, that was sure smart of us, huh? Keeping the pregnant lady in a house full of weapons."

That made Deborah's shoulders drop and not from exhaustion. She drew back with a huff. "I'm not an _invalid_, alright?" she said, frowning. "It was an accident."

A stray thought struck her. "And how on Earth did you know I got hurt?"

"Hey, I'm the angelic babysitter, remember?" Gabriel joked. When he finally put the sword down—_far_ back on the shelf—he looked up with a smirk. The gesture didn't reach his eyes, however. "It's my job to make sure there's nary a scratch on your holy protruding belly. If you do get a scratch, trust me, I'll know."

Deborah… had no idea what to think of that. At all. Swallowing, she stared at the archangel awkwardly. He just smiled, looking mighty pleased, as usual. As if nothing had happened. She wouldn't forget how serious he had been moments before, however. It was comforting to know they took her protection seriously, but this was a little creepy.

"Thanks…" she murmured, rubbing her arm. Suddenly, she looked down, realizing she would have to clean and bandage the wound. She hoped Bobby at least kept his weapons clean—

There wasn't a cut. Deborah stared at her arm and then at her other, just in case. There wasn't any cut, or blood, or any sign of injury at all. She looked up in astonishment and Gabriel stared back, innocently.

"Did—did you just—?" she sputtered.

Gabriel laughed shortly, waving her shock away. "Come on, lady, I'm a celestial being with awesome cosmic powers," he chided, sneering. "I don't want Castiel on my ass for letting you get an infection, even if you did skewer yourself on a sword some redneck left out in the open."

He had a gift of ruining moments. _Every_ moment, as far as Deborah was concerned. She sighed heavily, knowing it was useless to complain. "Thank you, then… again," she replied, glancing at her arm. Angels truly were gifted.

"What the hell was he doing anyway? Making you do physical labor?" Gabriel suddenly exclaimed. He gestured at the rag and bucket she had dropped in her panic. The sneer never left the angel's face. "For Dad's sake, what's _wrong_ with you humans?"

"I wanted something to do," Deborah shot back, now defending Bobby as well as herself. "It's not the funnest thing, but it's a nice distraction." From everything.

The look of utter disbelief made Deborah laugh. Gabriel's sneer was a work of art. "And you chose _cleaning_?" he demanded, incredulity ringing in his voice. "Sweetheart, _please_. I'll zap you some high-def cable and get you the seasons to _Lost_. You'll be so busy wondering about the damn polar bear, the Big Day will be right around the corner before you know it."

Struggling not to laugh, Deborah shook her head. "I'm not going to just sit around. That'd drive me crazy," she replied, trying to be firm. She picked up the bucket resolutely. "I mean, I can't even leave the house, right? Not without a full angel escort. There's no harm in cleaning."

The look on Gabriel's face was priceless and scathing. Deborah decided not to push it and walked past him on her original path toward the closet. The sooner she went back to mundane chores like cooking, he generally left. It wasn't like she disliked him, but Gabriel was certainly an acquired presence to get used to…

And quite difficult to ditch once he thought he could have fun with someone. "Where would you wanna to go?" he prompted, easily keeping up with her.

Deborah withheld a sigh as she opened the closet and pushed the bucket toward the side. "I—I don't know. Somewhere else." Gabriel was staring intently at her, so she gave in and heaved a sigh. "A movie, the mall, just… _anywhere_," she said, shrugging. "At least cleaning keeps me from getting lonely."

"I'll buy you a dog," the angel said with a grin as he leaned against the other wall, teasing.

Without thinking, Deborah replied, "You don't have money."

That actually made the angel laugh. Well, it was more like a snort, but at least Gabriel looked a bit less aggressive, smirking instead of sneering. Deborah smiled awkwardly.

"Ha…" she laughed quietly, looking away. "Right. Never mind." Gabriel could magic anything into existence, so money wasn't even a concern. She had seen him conjure a garter snake into Bobby's hat before, so living creatures were doable. She could live without a dog, however.

Gabriel apparently did not want to drop the conversation. "If you're that desperate…" he trailed off. He held a finger up to his chin, thinking, either mockingly or seriously. "Hmm. I'll think of things. I, my fair vessel, am the king of distractions."

For the life of her, Deborah couldn't disagree. "It's okay. I'll manage," she said, trying to keep Gabriel from doing something truly damaging. Deborah walked around him, gesturing toward the stairs. "I'll go talk to Bobby about the weapon thing."

She intended to escape before things got out of hand, but fate wasn't on her or the house's side that day. The angel walked up along side her, grinning madly.

"For starters, how about we redo your room?" Gabriel suddenly asked, his voice far too cheerful for her tastes.

Deborah shot him a wary look. "Uh, we should probably ask Bobby first—," she began, her mind already tumbling over a dozen new worries of, _Oh God what is he planning now_—

It was too late. "Nonsense!" Gabriel crowed. He grabbed her arm and dragged her back toward her bedroom. "Quick, to the Home Decorating Cave!"

If his goal was to make her laugh, he succeeded, but the internal feeling of dread didn't go away. Deborah took it in stride as he spun tales of luxurious and fanciful bedroom makeovers.

Diapers, cradles, angels, and home improvement—no wonder cleaning felt like an outlet of peace. She hoped the house would outlast them, at the very least.

**0000**

**San Francisco, California**

Dean had been enjoying a rousing—or rather _unwinding_—Magic Fingers session, with Castiel distracted by a newspaper at the table, when Castiel got a phone call from apparently Bobby. He answered the generic ringing automatically and Dean was given the perfect chance to listen in on the conversation as his quarter finally ran out and the bed stopped shaking. Before he could set the timer again, Castiel suddenly yelled, scaring Dean.

"She—_what_?" the angel blurted. Castiel never blurted something. Or yelled. At least, not often. Dean whipped around, shocked.

"What's wrong, Cas?" he demanded, sitting upright. There were so many things that could have gone wrong—Deborah, the baby, Raphael, _their plan_, Jesse—

Castiel looked stricken, not answering Dean. "Is she alright? Do I need—?" He froze and suddenly became even tenser. "Hello, Deborah. Are you alright?" he asked in a rush, concern and worry flashing in his eyes. There was a long pause and the tension uncoiled, just slightly. "…I see."

"What's wrong?" Dean whispered, tense. Castiel ignored him entirely, glaring at the wall strangely. He wasn't panicking, which was good, but Dean didn't like the intensity radiating off the angel.

After a long pause, Castiel seemed to back off. Dean could hear the faint sound of a woman speaking on the other end. "As long as he fixed it, then fine. I am glad you're alright. No, we are both fine here," Castiel said, mechanical once again. "Do you wish me to come over? …Alright. Take care."

Castiel hung up and pocketed the phone, not-glaring at the wall still. Dean was sitting up completely now, torn between waiting for his friend to speak or to ask directly. He decided to go with option two. "What the shit?" the human demanded, catching Castiel's attention.

To Dean's surprise, Castiel exhaled sharply, as if agitated. "Deborah accidently cut herself on one of Bobby's weapons," he replied, glancing at Dean.

"What the _hell_?" Dean frowned deeply. "He never leaves that stuff out."

"Apparently they were cleaning and he left it there on mistake," Castiel replied. He relaxed more visibly and tossed the phone to the side. "Deborah is fine. Gabriel helped her. Bobby felt obligated to let us know about the situation, however, so that's why he called."

Having "Gabriel" and "help" in the same sentence was alien, but Dean wasn't going to complain. "Huh. Well, that's good."

The angel stood up and moved over to the bed. He sat down rigidly next to Dean and the awkward silence continued. Dean suddenly felt pressured to pry more into this, but… he wasn't exactly good at the whole conversation thing.

"…What's wrong?" he asked, dreading an answer. Castiel wasn't one to smile often, but Dean was skilled at telling the normal scowl apart from the honestly-upset scowl.

He was right about the matter, because Castiel visibly wilted even further. "I…"

"Cas?" he prodded, now feeling a bit more alarmed.

Castiel looked up at Dean with an expression Sam had once worn when the issue of a first date had come up for the socially awkward teen. "Perhaps it should be me there," Castiel replied, as if pained. "I am inexperienced when it comes to caring for humans, especially one carrying a holy child, but…"

A bunch of theories and questions popped up in Dean's head all at once. He had no idea what Castiel was worried about now, but it was scaring Dean just watching.

"Hey, Gabriel's not that bad a dude, when he's not a douche and all," he said, reaching out to grasp Castiel's shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat. "And hey, he helped with Mary and the first kid, so he knows what he's doing. Got quite the resume."

His humor fell flat, because Castiel just sent him a slightly more strained look. "That's not what I mean," the angel said, his grave voice even graver.

"What, you… oh." Dean blinked, trying to keep up. Castiel wasn't an easy guy to read, but he sort of understood. "Cas, if you want to stay with Deborah, that's fine."

A strange look crossed Castiel's face. It was as if Dean's second reassurance hadn't been what Castiel had meant either, but then, all of a sudden, it made Castiel realize something else.

"I…" the angel began, failing. He looked away, now extremely agitated. "That was not part of the plan, Dean."

Dean sighed. "I know. You should stop in more, though," he said, carefully. "Just saying."

"We _must_ find Jesse," Castiel shot back, fidgeting. It was always a bad sign when the badass angel started to fidget.

"You don't sleep, right?" Dean challenged. "Go when we're not moving around. Like breakfast or something." He could handle himself fine alone, especially if it meant Castiel got some psychological reassurance that he wasn't an asshole for leaving Deborah off with strangers in the middle of some celestial baby plot.

Castiel seemed to struggle with his answer. "True," he managed to say, though there was something else in his tone that bothered Dean. He wasn't getting to the root of the problem, it seemed; Dean didn't want to force it.

"Or take a day off here and there," Dean offered instead. "Sometimes, I might just be traveling, you know? You can take some time off to help around at Bobby's then."

"I wouldn't even know what to do," Castiel said, sounding frustrated. "I am more worried about Raphael targeting Gabriel there, but perhaps it would be even worse if I was there instead. Raphael wouldn't try to kill Gabriel, at least not there. I would not be that big of a problem to handle." Exhaling sharply, Castiel looked down at his hands, which lay in his lap. "I should stay away."

The angel fell silent. "…Cas…" Dean frowned. "It'll be okay."

It wasn't going to be okay and they both knew it. But Castiel needed to hear it from someone. Out of the two of them, one of them had to be the positive one and Dean wasn't sure Castiel even knew how to be optimistic. He just saw the facts. Dean wasn't a dreamer, but he wasn't going to let his only companion drop into a depression over being a deadbeat dad, not now.

Dean wasn't sure where to go from there. If Castiel was worried Raphael was going to start bothering Deborah or Gabriel back at Bobby's, they could handle that. They would just warn the others to be on guard. Maybe Gabriel would be willing to actually profess his allegiance to Raphael in person. They could fix this. They just needed to be rational—

"This isn't my body," Castiel said so abruptly, it startled Dean.

That could mean a lot of things. A lot of weird, angel things. Dean stared at his friend, mulling over the words, before slowly… something coherent formed in Dean's mind.

Oh.

Oh, _crap_.

"Cas…" he began, trying to cut the despondent angel off before he started to think too much into this. It wasn't Castiel's fault. It wasn't—

Castiel's shoulders hunched up, probably without Castiel even noticing. "Jimmy may have moved onto Heaven when Raphael killed me the first time, but…" he trailed off, hands forming fists. When he spoke, his words were bitter. Regretful. "A woman knows my face as the father of her child. This isn't _my_ face. It's another man's."

How silly for an angel to worry about something like that.

How human.

"Jimmy would understand," Dean tried to say, trying to be comforting and well, a friend. He wasn't really good at that, but he could try.

Castiel closed his eyes and didn't seem intent on looking at anyone. "I don't know, Dean," he said, quietly. "I don't."

"You didn't have a choice, Cas," Dean began, sounding firm. "Not a real one. Deborah agreed under the same bullshit measures that you did, so it wasn't like—like it was forced on her or you by each other." When Castiel finally looked up at him, Dean out on a strained smile. "If Jimmy really is gone, then… I guess if he had a will, he'd have left you the body anyway."

Whether or not that was true, Dean didn't know. This entire thing, from top to bottom, was beyond screwed up. If Maury were here, he'd be having a field day. They didn't have a choice now in how messed up it was, though. They had to deal with it—their choices plus the shit the universe saw fit to drop on them anyway.

Castiel looked away, drained. Dean dropped his hand from Castiel's shoulder and his skin felt raw. He wished he could have said something actually reassuring. But he didn't. Because he was Dean Winchester and he wasn't a friend to anyone. Not even the one person who actually deserved a gesture of kindness from him.

"I should let you get some rest," Castiel announced hoarsely.

Dean didn't say anything to stop him. Castiel took his phone and then vanished, the fluttering of wings the only thing to signal he had flown.

Turning his head, Dean saw his own cell phone laying on the bedside table. Lisa had called again today and he ignored it. He would call when he could, he had promised her. She had believed him.

For a second, Dean thought he had the courage to pick it up and dial her number, but the strength fled him. He ignored the phone and, after making sure the salt lines and wards were still up, went to bed.

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**End **_**Week 8**_

_**Next**_**: Gabriel is a home-making terrorist, Deborah phones home and Dean has an epiphany!**

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	9. Weeks 8 and 9

_**Revelations**_**  
Weeks 8-9**  
By Nan00k

Thanks for the reviews, guys! :D

Gabriel becomes a house terror for Bobby, Deborah deals with her past decisions and Dean has an epiphany in the form of a flaming Scotsman.

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Gabriel was a walking natural disaster. Bobby said that at least. Deborah liked to think of the archangel as "socially impaired," but to the opposite degree of Castiel. The trench coat clad angel just couldn't relate to people. Gabriel related—too well. In fact, he related to the point where he knew every single button to press to really, really piss someone off.

Namely, Bobby. Gabriel bothered Deborah sometimes, no doubt, but never to the extent he teased Bobby. It was never malicious (at least from what Deborah could tell), but the older hunter was always screaming about some kind of trick the angel had pulled on him. As far as Gabriel was concerned, it was harmless fun that got him through the "additional eight months of babysitting."

The room was the next step in the _Tormenting Bobby Distraction Plan_, as Gabriel liked to call it. Deborah liked her room just fine. It was a bit dusty and the purple striped wallpaper was neither new or fitting for the rustic home, but it didn't bother Deborah at all. In fact, she kind of liked it. Her bed was newer and she had bought new covers for it earlier. The ancient white wardrobe against the furthest wall was cute and she insisted it stayed.

None of that was good enough for Gabriel, apparently. He moaned and groaned about the basic cotton sheets, the creaky wood flooring and the faded "girly" wallpaper. Bobby threatened him with everything the poor human had—spells, wards, the banishing sigil Deborah learned actually did work, but was off-limits. If Gabriel got sent away, Raphael would be sniffing around instantly for the reason why, Gabriel cheekily reminded them.

Whatever happened, Deborah knew, Raphael could not come to the house. That much, _all_ of them knew.

So, Bobby didn't have much say in the matter, even in his own home. Gabriel could poof all he wanted and not much could stop him. For this week, it seemed his attentions were completely focused on home improvement. Deborah prayed the house would survive.

The room she was using was not the only spare bedroom upstairs. There was another, generally saved for Dean and Sam while they were there. Normally, Dean told her, they would have put her there, but Dean might need the room if he stopped by. Plus… well… Deborah had a feeling Sam Winchester was a part of the reason for her being placed in the other unused room. She had only heard bits and pieces about the younger brother's death, but she knew it had been awful for Dean. She respected that and stayed away from their things, the few that remained in Bobby's house.

"Stop touching my things!" Bobby was swearing. Gabriel seemed to have none of that respect for others' property and was almost purposely kicking the furniture around in Deborah's room. "All of this—Goddamnit, _GET OUT_!"

"It needs more _luxury_! You're housing a future prince of princes!" Gabriel shot back, impishly.

Bobby was turning a rather unnatural shade of red, even as Deborah skittered past him to grab the last of her own personal belongings. "Last thing I heard, the first one was born in a dirty hovel of a barn," Bobby spat.

"It was actually a rather _nice_ barn," Gabriel sniffed, choosing to ignore the irate human. He flicked a wrist and the whole wall of wallpaper in front of him disappeared. "Hmm, I'm thinking… yellow. You're kind of a yellow lady, aren't you, Deb?"

Deborah pointedly chose to not reply and Gabriel kept on going anyway, not needing her input at all. Bobby proceeded to pitch a fit about the cheery yellow paint that miraculously appeared on the wall. While the human was busy screaming about "idjits ruining his home" and Gabriel was busy contemplating drapery colors, Deborah escaped into the hallway with her last box of possessions. She didn't want her few items of value getting destroyed in the battle of wills going on in the tiny room.

So, she took everything downstairs, which was probably safer than being upstairs at the moment. What was more distressing to Deborah, however, was the fact the effort of taking a few boxes down the stairs had been _taxing_. She wasn't even that big! She had gotten a few books on pregnancy after she had settled in and Bobby took her into town for some basic shopping, but it still felt surreal.

Alone for the first time that day, Deborah stood in the living room, contemplating what she could do, while Bobby and Gabriel were waging war upstairs, the sounds of their bickering fading into the background.

A strange inkling of an idea had occurred to her earlier, mostly because of another stray thought she had had a week or two ago. Dean called often or Bobby called him when he didn't, just to check up on things. Deborah liked the younger hunter, even if he was a little intimidating; he seemed to care about what happened to her in the long run. Even still, whenever he called or she had the opportunity to tell him about her day, part of her wished his traveling companion was the one on the other end of the line.

Castiel. She wanted to talk to Castiel. Why… she wasn't quite sure. She hadn't spoken more than five words to the angel since… well… the night they first met. Thinking about him gave Deborah's stomach a strange kind of twisting feeling—not a good, nor a bad one.

Maybe they needed to talk about this, she reasoned, though it wasn't a strong argument to her own mind. What if he didn't want to stick around with the baby, if they did indeed make this work and Raphael was defeated? What if he did want to stick around? What would that mean?

Without thinking about it, Deborah walked to the kitchen, where the row of phones—all different lines for different hunter purposes, she had learned—hung. There was one normal phone line and, standing there looking at it, she was overcome wit the urge to pick it up.

Deborah knew she didn't have the will power to actually call the angel. Not because of the doubts about the future.

She just couldn't face what either of them had done. Not yet.

Reaching over, she picked the phone up from its cradle. She didn't have Castiel or Dean's numbers memorized completely yet (though she knew she ought to). She did know one number by heart and with trembling fingers, she managed to punch the digits in.

By the first ring, she regretted going through with this. By the second, there was a click and Deborah knew it was too late.

"_Hello_?"

Deborah inhaled shakily, reeling at the sound of the familiar, older voice. "Hi, mama," she began, forcing a steady voice.

There was a startled gasp on the other end of the line. "_Deborah_!" her mother exclaimed. Her words were jumbled, as if she was trying to say a bunch of things all at once. The panic and the worry in her tone were unmistakable. "_What—for the love of God, _Deborah_! Why haven't you _called_? !"_

The accusation stung Deborah something awful, but inwardly, she had been prepared for this reaction. She hadn't called her parents once since she had left home and she knew that must have been terrible for them. She just couldn't muster the strength before. Now, she was already feeling ready to hang up just from nerves.

"I, I've been busy settling in, mama. I'm sorry," Deborah began again, knowing it was useless to say anything.

"_You're sorry_? !" her mother blurted, voice shrill, angry. There were no sounds in the background, so her father must have been at work. "_I've been worried _sick_! I thought about calling the police _five_ times this month! Not a word or reason or call_—!"

Deborah curled against the side of the wall, fighting her own anxiety. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, hoping to cut the angry tirade off before both of them broke down. "I-I've been busy, honest! Time just got away from me, is all. I'm sorry, mama, I really am." There were no words to describe how sorry she was for all of this.

The tense silence that followed was agonizing. She could hear her mother breathing heavily. "…_Are you alright_?" the older mother asked finally, voice sharp.

"Of course, mama," Deborah replied, closing her eyes, exhausted. "I would have called if I had a big problem. Everything's… calm here, really. Nothing big to speak of." Other than domestic-terrorist angels, of course. That wasn't something she could complain about, of course.

"_Why_?" Mrs. Garrison demanded, cutting to the chase far quicker than Deborah had feared. "_Why… did you have to leave_?"

Sliding down the wall, Deborah brought her legs up to her chest, feeling pathetically helpless. "I _told_ you. I wanted to move in with—with Cas." She stumbled over the nickname, still unsure of what to formally call him in front of ordinary people.

The angry scoff made Deborah wince, as if her mother was right in front of her instead of miles back home in Ohio. She could just imagine the scowl and glare on her mother's face. "_We never even _met_ him_!" the older woman barked.

"I know!" Deborah said, guilty. "He's _terribly_ shy, mama. And—and I know how much this upset you and dad. I didn't want…"

She stopped herself, unsure of how—or why—she wanted to phrase it. Her mother waited in impatient silence and Deborah forced the words to come to her lips.

"People would've talked a lot," she said.

As expected, her mother shot back, snarling, "_Deborah Lynn, that is _no_ reason_—."

"Dad is the _pastor_, mama," Deborah interrupted sharply. "I won't let my m-mistakes ruin your lives." She knew how judgmental some people got about certain things, like pre-martial pregnancies. Her father's reputation gave him the respect he got as pastor. Deborah wasn't about to ruin his life along with her own.

Also, there was the whole _angels-watching-my-every-move_ concern, too. Deborah was not about to drag her parents into this. The further away they were from each other, the better.

"_Forget the church!_" her mother exclaimed, expectedly dismissive of the worries._ "Deborah, I'm _terrified_ for you, baby! I want you _home."

Deborah stared out across the kitchen, the faint sounds of men arguing upstairs the only thing disturbing the silent house. "I can't go home, mama," she replied quietly. "Not now."

"_Why not_?" her mother begged, sounding desperate. Deborah brought her legs up to her chest tighter, clenching her eyes shut in pain.

"Because I…" she began, voice wavering. She clenched her free hand into a fist, bracing herself. "I _need_ to do this on my own. I mean, not with… parents. This was my mistake, my responsibility. I'm gonna tackle it as an adult."

Her mother made a distressed sighing sound. "_But why move so far away? South Dakota? Really_?"

"It's where Cas' family and work is, mama. It's a really nice place, honest. The house is adorable." Deborah opened her eyes and laughed awkwardly, trying to make it less serious. "I-I'm not alone or anything either. Cas is a-around and Bobby, Cas's uncle, is a great help, too. His brother Gabriel is around a lot. They're very nice."

"_So many men_," her mother said scornfully.

Deborah sighed, agreeing. "Yeah, but they're sympathetic and are really respectful people." Well, Bobby was nice. Gabriel probably couldn't even pretend to be respectful. "Cas is a nice man, mama. He'll… support me and the baby." If not financially, at least physically. As in, they had protection from demonic attacks.

Oh, Lord, her life was such a mess.

"_What's his name again_?" her mother demanded. "_Cas? Cas what_?"

"Cas…tiel Novak," Deborah stuttered, barely remembering his vessel's last name. "His mother was, um, European. Not sure where from exactly." Since when did she lie so much to her mother?

"_Castiel_?" her mother repeated, waspish.

Deborah cleared her throat. "Yeah…" They had thought about using the name 'Jimmy' (Castiel's host's name) but that had disturbed both Deborah and Castiel too much, so they just decided to use his own name. It was strange, but a name was an easy thing to explain away.

Her mother made a tsking sound. "_Is he religious_?"

"Oh, _very_, mama. Nondenominational, though," Deborah replied, fighting a weak chuckle at that. Of course he was religious. "He works as an advertisement salesman and makes more than enough to support us. He's a great man, I promise."

Then, the question she was dreading popped up. "_Why are you living with his family but not ours_?"

Deborah tried to think, but she didn't really have an answer. "Because—"

"_Did he ask you to_?" her mother demanded, impatiently.

"Yeah, mama, he did. And I agreed," Deborah replied, trying to be firm. She didn't want this to turn into some horrible question-and-answer thing that she couldn't be honest with her mother about. "I-I wanted to move."

She wanted this to have never have happened. She wanted to be home. But she didn't want her family in danger, so… yes. She wanted to move. That wasn't a lie.

"_I_ _don't understand_," her mother said, tearful. "_I _miss_ you_."

Deborah closed her eyes again. "I miss you and dad, too," she said. "Once the baby's born, I'll get them to fly you both over here to meet them and the baby."

"_I should be there now, Deborah_," her mother continued, insistent. "_You're my baby girl. I should _be_ there helping_."

"I'll be just fine, mama," Deborah replied, her throat far too thick. Oh, this was why she didn't want to call. "M-maybe I can get dad to show you how to do Skype and we can all see each other even from this distance."

Her mother sniffed. "_You're hiding something from me_."

"No, mama, I'm not," Deborah said, too quickly. She paused, her heart hurting something awful.

Unfortunately, her mother's silence did not indicate she believed her. Maybe this is why Deborah never lied to her mother before—it just didn't work.

"_I don't know what's going on with your life that you have to move thousands of miles away from your own mother, or what kind of secrets you have to protect_," Mrs. Garrison began, emotional, "_but you're still my child and I love you_."

Deborah choked. "I love you too, mama," she said, voice wobbling.

The conversation mechanically drew to a close a few minutes later. Her father was well and everything at home was fine, minus people asking where Deborah had run off too so early into her vacation home. Deborah didn't mention school and neither did her mother. The semester had begun and continued without her, so there was no need to mention it now.

After what seemed like forever, Deborah told her mother goodbye and hung up the phone. She promised to call more often and she hoped she would too, even if hearing her mother was worse than not seeing her all the time.

The yelling upstairs stopped completely and Deborah sat alone in the kitchen, listening to the quiet of the nearly-empty house.

Her hands laced over her belly, which was just starting to show the telltale bump. She couldn't feel anything else beneath her skin—no holy sensation, no feelings of glory, not even a kick.

The urge to run overwhelmed her. Deborah swallowed hard, trying to force the fight-or-flight sensation away. Where would she even _go_?

There was no other choice, but to stay and hope for the best.

The yelling and arguing finally stopped. Gabriel had turned her bedroom into a partial finished work. The walls were yellow and the bed was far softer than it had been, though there was no telling what would be changed tomorrow at the whim and fancy of a bored archangel. Deborah pretended to care about patterns and made the two men a warm dinner, even though her chest felt cold.

She kept hoping for the best… but she stopped praying. It didn't seem right to do so.

That night, Deborah heard Gabriel throwing a rubber ball continually against her bedroom wall and, gritting her teeth, she forced herself to ignore it and get some sleep.

**0000**

**Eastern California**

There wasn't anything happening on the West coast, Dean decided, so they had to move east.

Castiel was handling the global scale of the Jesse-hunt, for obvious reasons. Dean in turn took to the more standard traveling-by-car searching of his own skill level. He kept an eye out in newspapers and on the Internet for any signs of demonic activity that would match the level of what they needed to find. It was almost eerie how _lacking_ in demonic activity things seemed to be, but Dean kept looking. They had to.

Separated yet again by separate duties, Dean was left driving alone while Castiel was off doing, well, angel things. Things back at Bobby's were apparently colorful thanks to Gabriel, but there weren't any real problems to speak up. Raphael was quiet for now. Things were almost too quiet for Dean's paranoia.

Why hadn't they found another hoard of Jesse supporters? Part of Dean was suspicious of the whole thing being true by this point. What if Raphael had been making it up, about Jesse? Castiel seemed pretty sure of it, though… so maybe there was some truth behind the whole conspiracy theory. Dean wanted proof though, but they had to find Jesse first.

That was worse than trying to find God, honestly. At least back then, they had had the amulet. It had turned out to be worthless, but at least they had something to guide them if they had run into him. Jesse could have been anywhere and they had almost no real clue outside of the demons amassing to help them hone in on the kid.

They were out of options, Dean realized, other than searching the old fashioned way. There weren't going to be any amulets or cheat sheets or—

And then… driving along a nondescript highway, Dean thought of a single name.

Crowley.

…Holy mother of _GOD_, Crowley.

"_Shit_," Dean whispered to himself, mind soaring. Chuck had disappeared, probably for his own good, but Crowley? The dude was the King of Hell essentially. If anyone had connections to what was going on with demons, it was him.

Part of Dean wanted to be wary about seeking help from the demon. He was a demon and if dealing with demons had taught Dean anything, it was _not_ to deal with them.

But Crowley had been, in the end, a huge help in their fight against Lucifer. For his own gains, maybe, but the demon had thrown himself under the bus essentially to get what the Winchesters needed and he had given Bobby his legs back. Bobby said they had un-did the deal, too, after the fight was over, so he got his soul back. Crowley had given the hunter a short goodbye and vanished, without doing anything underhanded or evil.

So… Dean decided to press his luck. He picked up his phone and called Castiel. The angel had told him he'd be busy for a while, so Dean wasn't surprised he got the awkwardly amusing voicemail message. Smiling to himself, Dean hoped Castiel never changed it, just because it was so funny and so… well, _Castiel_.

Some things really shouldn't change, he thought.

"Hey, Cas? I know you're in Heaven right now, but I wanted to run this by you first, so when you get this message, or figure out how to answer it, call me back." Dean cleared his throat. "Ah, I'm thinking maybe we should find Crowley. I know he's a demon and all, but he might have more leads on where Jesse or his demon groupies are, you know? I don't know how to find him myself, outside of summoning a crossroads demon, but I don't want to risk calling up a demon who might be working with Jesse, you know? Lemme know what you think of this. Uh, bye."

Whenever Castiel got back, they could decide what to do. Dean was actually feeling mildly pleased with his idea. It was all they had, honestly. Raphael's people seemed to be either just as clueless as them, or were deliberately withholding the facts. Either way, Dean knew his team had to figure this stuff out solo.

He got another ratty motel for the night. The endless cycle of driving and motels was an easy pattern to get back into. Dean sort of missed Castiel popping in randomly during the day whenever he went back to play politician in Heaven, but he was glad the angel stay away at night.

For various reasons.

Dean rested his head on the motel pillow and closed his eyes . The idea of contacting Crowley, using his intel to find Jesse or at least the next hoard—it would work.

It was a good plan, wasn't it?

"_I dunno. Crowley's a demon, man. Just look at Ruby… at Meg… at all of them_," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Those were your problems, though," Dean shot back.

Sam laughed, almost sheepish. "_Yeah, yeah. Still. Don't just dive headfirst into this_."

Dean looked at his hands, which, like everything else between them except egos and age, were smaller than his brother's. "Cas might go for it though," he said, frowning.

"_I'd trust his judgment_," Sam said, nodding. "_Just… don't forget you can think too, Dean. Not that well without me, of course—_," Dean snorted, _"—but don't have too much doubt in your own plans_."

"I know," Dean said, looking away again.

He felt Sam lean closer. He could almost imagine the deep frown on his face, eyebrows furrowing in disapproval. "_No, you don't. You never have_." Dean did look up and Sam said, "_Try believing in yourself now and again_."

Dean stared back at him, heart strangely numb, even though he knew it should have been hurting. "Last time I did, you died," he pointed out, as if that was a validation of something.

Sam's eyes shone, brightened by the small smile on his face. "_Yeah. But that was part of the plan, wasn't it_?"

Part of the plan? Dean knew there had been a plan, that Sam was going to die, and the world would be okay after that.

But never anywhere in those plans did Dean expect to walk away okay too. Being okay was for everyone else. Not him.

"I never wanted that plan," he replied finally. Since when did he speak so quietly?

Sam leaned back, suddenly seeming horribly far away. "_But you got it_," he said. "_We all did_."

Dean felt part of him slip downwards, through the bench they were seated in. "I don't know what to do, Sammy," he said, abruptly feeling out of control of what was happening. The pond was no longer a quiet trickle in the back of his mind. All he heard was deafening silence and his own doubts.

"_Wake up_."

"What?" Dean turned around, but no one was there. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, regardless.

Sam's eyes broke up the darkness. "_Wake up and do what you have to. That's what_."

Gasping, Dean jerked upward. He flailed for a few seconds before realizing he wasn't at the pond. He was in the motel, in his bed, where he had fallen asleep. It was a dream. A dream.

Again.

Breathing heavily, Dean tried to lay back down, but his heart was racing. The freeway nearby filled in the background noise and he had the chance to reflect over what he had dreamed. All the details were still there. They never did seem to go away, so he was left with all the facts to get worked up over that he hadn't seemed to do in the dreams themselves.

His shoulder burned where Sam's hand had grasped him.

Eyes stinging, Dean glared at the ceiling, fighting the urge to stand up and punch the wall.

That was dream number eight. They were getting worse.

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

.

* * *

**Next: Bobby Singer's home proves to be less of a haven than Dean and Deborah were hoping for... and not in the way anyone was expecting.**

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	10. Week 9

_**Revelations**_**  
Week 9**  
By Nan00k

:) My friend Ed helped me write this chapter and the plot was his idea. Time to give Bobby some love (aka emotional torment), plus give Dean and company reasons to think about their own problems. Yaaaay, drama! Sorry if this feels a bit like filler, but I'm trying to emulate a full season as I go with this. Don't worry though. Next chapter has quite a bit of "non-filler" action.

...Oh my Chuck why was this chapter so big? D:

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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_**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

Bobby's house was like a sleeping giant. Deborah didn't know what it was that made her think that, walking through its older rooms, watching dust drift through the air and settle on aged furniture. It was just an old farmhouse. Gabriel was around enough that she knew there were no demons or monsters lurking in the corners. Bobby had enough sense to guard himself from anything malicious. She felt safe there.

But the house itself gave off a different sense than fear. It felt almost as if the walls could just wake up one day and speak. Deborah never felt alone in the empty halls or rooms, even though she yearned for company on the worst of days. She never mentioned it out loud, figuring it was just paranoia or just because the house was old. Not everything was magical or supernatural, she kept telling herself logically. Just because she had some magic in her life did not mean everything was.

The work on her room continued and her two male companions never noticed how the house seemed to shrink as they worked. Deborah watched from a distance as Gabriel ripped through her wallpaper, installed a fancier bed, and somehow expanded her closet, as if she was going to be living there for years as opposed to months. Deborah felt horrible for Bobby, who eventually gave up, snarling under his breath and threatening to call Castiel in whenever Gabriel teasingly promised to upgrade Bobby's room too.

Deborah insisted he keep the wardrobe in the corner. It reminded her of her own childhood room at home in Ohio. Gabriel was incredibly resistant to the idea, however.

"It's ugly," he whined.

"I don't care," she said, surprising herself with how firm her response was with the archangel. Gabriel just pouted and left it alone, thankfully and just added a window that looked over the nicer side of Bobby's land. The junkyard-free part.

By the end of the renovations, everyone was tired. Deborah was thankful to be able to move back into the essentially new room, which was much nicer now, honestly. She did feel bad about upsetting Bobby, but if it gave Gabriel a (somewhat) nondestructive thing to do while they got through this crazy adventure, she knew he could handle it.

The evening Deborah was going to enjoy sleeping in her new room, she left the last box of her possessions on the end of the bed and decided to start dinner. She got as far as the door when abruptly, she turned around, as if someone had called her. Nothing had moved an inch and Deborah stared out at the empty room, feeling more surprised than foolish.

Without a word, she walked downstairs and started their meal.

**0000**

Bobby was mad. He was _pissed_, that's what. For the last three days, he had to watch a deranged archangel tear his house apart—okay, one room—for no reason other than his own amusement. There was nothing wrong with anything in his house that deserved that sort of treatment.

And _that_ room? Bobby almost had to stop himself from asking Castiel for his angel-killing blade. They needed the damn archangel around, he kept telling himself over and over. He banished him once already and after Gabriel cheekily called Dean in revenge for "endangering the baby," Bobby knew there was almost nothing to be done about it. Bobby might not have known exactly what was going on with their plans concerning the baby, but he knew it was important to keep their strongest ally on their team.

At least the "renovations" were finally done. Gabriel had preened about how good a job he had done before zipping off to God knew where. Bobby was very grateful that it was just the humans having dinner than evening, the kitchen oddly quiet. Deborah smiled sympathetically as she served a decent meal of meatloaf and green beans.

"Are you alright, Bobby?" Deborah asked, curious and concerned as she sat down. That's how the kid generally sounded and Bobby couldn't find it in himself to snap at her to stop asking questions about everything that happened around the house. Some things were better off not knowing, especially in the life of a hunter.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a hunting problem this time, so he didn't have an excuse not to talk about it. "I'm getting ready to call Raphael in here to zap that no good _idjit _who's ruining my house," he snapped, taking a vicious swig of beer. It felt damn good to rant, though. "Don't fret about it. I'm fine."

"I'm just sorry about the room," she replied, shaking her head. "It was fine before, though Gabriel did do a good job I guess."

"Of taking over my house!" Bobby exclaimed, before he realized he was yelling. He didn't want to put this all on her, but it was difficult not to be upset.

Instead of wincing at the shout, Deborah just laughed. "Well, at least it's still standing," she said, peaceably. "I was worried about that."

Bobby snorted and ate his meal in irritated silence. He couldn't wait until Dean called and he could give him an earful of just how awful his angel guard was. Maybe they could switch for at least a week. Castiel at least was good at the whole _Not_ _Seen and Not Heard_ routine.

"I understand wanting to tell him off," Deborah chuckled. She looked a bit more serious, however, when she continued. "He keeps throwing a rubber ball or something against my wall when I'm trying to sleep. I hope he'll stop now that all the work is done."

"Hmph."

"I am surprised though," she continued suddenly, sounding curious.

"About that?" Bobby asked, looking up from his plate.

"My room was so… girly," she continued, smiling, as if waiting for a joke. "I haven't seen any pictures of yours around here, so I didn't know if I should ask. Did you have girls living here before?"

Bobby stared at her and almost without warning, he forgot how to speak. He just _stared_ at her.

Deborah hesitated. "Bobby?" she asked, her voice cutting through the silence harshly.

"What?" he snapped, words coming back to him sharply. He looked away, back at his plate. He lost his appetite. "No. I just hope whatever that moron did isn't going to affect the rest of the house."

Unsettled, Deborah nodded and looked back at her own food. "Right…" she said, backing off.

Bobby should have felt like a heel, dropping the conversation so shortly, but instead, he excused himself. He stood by the backdoor, looking out, watching for any unwelcomed angels (well, other than Gabriel), and heard Deborah putting dishes away. The night settled upon them as it always did, though this time, it felt abnormally heavy.

He was getting too old for this.

**0000**

_It was night. It had to have been night, because everything was dark. She heard someone breathing, though, as if they had been running for several minutes. Or from fear._

_She wondered if she was the one breathing._

_It was dark, but it wasn't night. She could tell now, with the slivers of light filtering past the edges of the closed doors, where the floor met the bedroom's hardwood. _

_And then the screaming. Her breathing stopped short, as if that would let her ears strain further, hearing the same words over and over again._

"_No, no. Please! Please, no! No!"_

_She forgets to breathe entirely._

_Footsteps, two kinds, both heavy and light, stream across the wood. She presses all the way back against the back wall, heart screaming although her throat is unmercifully dry and voiceless. Terror floods her because they're coming, they're right there, they're opening the door, SHE'S RIGHT THERE—_

"_Found you."_

_And then she can't breathe, because there are hands grabbing at her throat. She can't breathe. She can't breathe. She grasps broken glass, but_ she can't breathe_—_

"_KAREN!"_

Deborah woke up with a startled yell, limbs flailing against the silky sheets. Drenched in sweat, she flopped back onto the bed with a racing heart.

Oh. Oh, God.

Grasping her chest, Deborah tried to calm down, but everything was fresh in her mind. The utter terror began to fade, gradually. She had never been so scared in a dream. Or even in real life, even during that awful day she met Dean Winchester and the two angels.

Her room seemed unnaturally quiet and still after all of that. Her breathing was the only real sound that echoed across the empty air. Outside, she could hear a gentle breeze rattle against the half-closed window. Downstairs, nothing. It was almost three fifteen in the morning, so even Bobby was asleep in his downstairs bedroom.

And then, the bouncing started.

It was the wall again at first. Deborah froze as the sound and rhythm of a rubber ball began to filter through the wall behind her head, like it had for the last two nights. For a moment, she was grateful. That meant Gabriel was there, watching over the house. He might have been annoying, but that didn't mean—

The bouncing stopped. For just a moment. And then slowly, Deborah turned her head to face the bedroom doorway.

Had she opened the door when she had gone to bed hours ago? The dark hallway lay beyond the decent sized opening and Deborah felt compelled to stare into the darkness, her heartbeat suddenly beginning to increase again.

Standing slowly, she crept closer to the door and tried to forget about her fear. It was stupid. It was just Gabriel, or just her imagination. Maybe it had been the pipes after all, since it was an old house. The door… probably was just weak at the hinges and swung open sometimes. She could get Gabriel to fix that later. It wasn't anything to get worked up over.

Tiny feet took off down the wood floor hallway and Deborah froze up like a stone statue. Brief, but distinctly child-like running from one end of the hall, where it faded past her, and then picked up again at the other end.

"Gabriel?" Deborah whispered, almost wishing it was true. The archangel didn't appear and the footsteps faded entirely.

A giggle.

Deborah gripped the side of her door, trying not to panic. She stared out into the dark hallway, scanning from right to left, trying to find the source of the noises. _Don't panic, it's probably Gabriel or a trick… don't… freak out now…_

She stepped out into the hall, now with the intent to go downstairs and wake Bobby, just in case. It wasn't necessary to call for Gabriel, because—this wasn't anything. She just wanted Bobby to be aware of the situation, because it was probably just a normal, human one and—

The bouncing of a rubber ball caught her attention again. Only this time, when her eyes trailed down the darkened hallway to the top of the stairs, she saw the source of the noise. A girl, dressed in a white dress, took off down the stairs after what looked like a red ball that made quiet thudding noises all the way.

Heart racing, Deborah wondered why she didn't scream. She felt like she couldn't make a noise at all, actually. Throat closed involuntarily, she took three trembling steps closer to the stairs, where both the girl and the ball had vanished. She wanted to call for Gabriel, _now_, but a sense of morbid curiosity pushed her forward alone.

The stairs were vacant and the bouncing noise had vanished as well. Gripping the railing tightly, she moved slowly down the wooden staircase, the wood only slightly creaking on one of the bottom steps. The living room and foyer were empty of anything moving and the only light source was coming from the doorways that led to the kitchen. Deborah looked up, heart pounding a mile a minute.

The breath caught in her throat.

From the moonlight filtering through the windows, she could see all the doors on the kitchen cabinets were thrown open. Glass glittered all over the floor and table like stardust. Deborah inched closer down the hallway; the only sound she heard now was her own heartbeat. No one could have just broken into the house. That was… impossible. Gabriel or Bobby would have noticed…

Shaking, Deborah reached out and hesitated for a moment with her hand on the kitchen light switch. Then, she flicked it upright, the florescent light blinding her momentarily. When her eyes adjusted, she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Not a single pan or dish was out of place. The whole room was as clean as it had been when she had gone to bed.

What was going on—?

Behind her, she felt the impression of a child's hand grip the back of her shirt.

She screamed—quite loudly. The spirit—ghost—monster—was long gone, but Deborah didn't care. She slammed back into the kitchen table and looked around wildly, trying to find out where the being had gone, if it was still there.

And of course, _then_ the males decided to get involved. She prayed that she would have the pretense to scream _bloody murder_ if Raphael's people decided to attack her, because otherwise her little watch group wasn't very watchful.

Gabriel appeared without any flair right where she had been standing by the kitchen entrance, looking serious again.

"What is it?" he demanded, taking in the kitchen with the eyes of a trained soldier. "What's wrong?"

"There's a ghost! There's a ghost!" she screamed, gesturing at the stairs at the front of the house.

Gabriel sent her a strange look, ignoring the startled yelling from Bobby's room. "No, there's not," the archangel said, sounding confused.

Deborah didn't care if he didn't believe her. She knew what she had seen. "It's a little girl," she said, teeth chattering. "I thought it was you bouncing a ball, but there's a little girl running around upstairs and she—she's—!"

"What the hell is going on? !" Bobby shouted, marching out into the kitchen, dressed in what had to be pajamas from the 1980s. He sent Gabriel a squinted-glare, but gave Deborah a bewildered look. "What happened?"

Inhaling deeply, Deborah stared back at him, trembling. "There's a ghost in my room," she said, knowing that sounded pathetic.

Bobby _stared_ at her and Gabriel was still looking mildly incredulous.

And then, suddenly, Gabriel made a little, "Oh," sound. He turned and looked at both Bobby and then Deborah and then abruptly vanished. Deborah stared at where he had been standing, feeling completely off-kilter.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Bobby seethed, more disturbed by Gabriel's sudden disappearance than anything else.

Deborah decided to take matters into her own hands. "I'm calling Dean," she said, resolutely as she marched over to the phone.

**0000**

Dean had made it two feet inside his ratty new motel room when he cell phone went off. He almost wanted to ignore it, having just exhausted himself with hunting down an impromptu salt-and-burn mission without angelic back up. Castiel had been summoned back for what he had to assume was "politics."

However, when Dean did look at the caller-ID on his phone, he saw the words, "Bobby Singer" and immediately answered, fear flaring up in his gut.

"Hey," he began, dumping his bag down on the bed. Part of the rational side of his mind told him it was just another update, perhaps ahead of schedule, but everything was fine. Bobby was punctual with his promises sometimes.

It wasn't Bobby who answered though. "_Dean_!" he heard Deborah Garrison stammer. In the background, he heard Bobby muttering irately about something. "_Dean, oh, thank goodness. I wasn't sure if you were in bed by now—_!"

"What's wrong? Where's Gabriel?" Dean immediately asked, now incredibly alarmed. He hadn't heard the woman panicked at all, well, since the night all of this went down. "I'm gonna call Castiel and send him over—"

"_No! Wait, shit, I have no idea_!" Deborah exclaimed. She sounded frightened. "_I-I have no idea what this is and Gabriel just left, so I don't think it's life-threatening, but I wanted to call a-and see if—_!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down!" Dean ordered, mind racing. "What's wrong? Deborah, you have to tell me plainly."

Deborah inhaled deeply. "_There's a ghost in Bobby's house_," she blurted. In the background, Dean heard Bobby curse loudly and vehemently deny what she had just said. Deborah continued to explain, almost to the both of them. "_I _saw_ it! I saw a little girl in white running up and down the length of the second floor hall, an-and then on the stairs—and she grabbed my shirt—and then the kitchen was all destroyed, but not when I turned on the light! Oh, gosh darn it, Bobby, you had to have heard it_—!"

Dean stared out at the motel wallpaper, trying desperately to keep up to the conversation. Ghost? Bobby's house? What the hell—that was no what he had been expecting to hear. At all. What about the angels? Or—hell, Gabriel was there! He would have picked up on something surely. And it was Bobby's house. There was no way—

"_You have to believe me_," Deborah said tearfully. "_I wouldn't make this up. I swear_!"

"I believe you," Dean said, sitting down at the table in the corner, mind still trying to keep up. "Just… calm down. Once you sit down and take a few breaths, I need you to tell me exactly what you saw, okay, Deb?"

The story was jumbled, but after a few moments of Deborah getting her facts, and apparently dreams straight, Dean realized there might actually be something to the story if she hadn't just imagined it. She had seen a specter, possibly centered around her room, playing in Bobby's house and then some almost poltergeist activity with the broken glass in the kitchen. It didn't make sense that it was happening, however. Bobby never had a kid running around his house before, and if there had been a poltergeist, surely the angels would have noticed it before.

"_Then what is it_?" Deborah asked, sounding just as exhausted as Dean felt. "_Oh, Lord, those dreams_…"

"How many have you had lately?" Dean asked, jotting down notes. How could this possibly be turning into a hunt when it was already involving people from _another_ case?

"_I-I don't know… it's been happening all week. Just the same… fear_." Deborah inhaled deeply again. "_Just… scared girls. And sometimes… I think there's another woman involved, but she's the one I—they're—scared of_."

Dean nodded as he wrote. "Anything at all about this lady? Why are they afraid of her?"

"_She chases them around and tries to hurt them… I think one of them hid in a wardrobe. Maybe the one in my room_." Deborah sighed softly, sounding weary. "_I think her name might be Karen. Or Kara. One of those_."

Karen.

…_Karen_?

Dean felt a cold chill sweep through his gut. Karen… Karen Singer. She had been Bobby's wife—the woman he had been forced to kill, _twice_, because of paranormal attacks. There was no way—no fucking way—that Deborah would have known that name or anything about Karen, with Bobby so defensive about the matter. Did that mean, after that zombie fiasco with Death—did that mean Karen had come back to haunt Bobby's house?

"Did… how much have you told Bobby?" Dean asked instead, knowing the older hunter had left the room to inspect all the wards around the house plus check the upstairs for paranormal signs. Oh, God, this was not good.

"_He doesn't believe me_," Deborah sniffed. She exhaled sharply. "_I'm sorry. It's like four AM here. It must be late for you, too._"

Dean rubbed his eyes, more tired than he had felt in a while. "No, no, it's fine. I…" He paused, glancing up at the ceiling. "I'm only about eight hours away right now. Cas is busy, but I can drive out to Sioux Falls tomorrow."

Deborah started over the phone. "What_? Oh, you don't have to—_"

"Deborah, if there's a real ghost problem, you had better _believe_ I have to be there," Dean said shortly, closing his eyes. They _so_ did not need this right now. "Don't say anything to Bobby, okay?"

"_Why not_?" Deborah asked, wary. She was rather perceptive for a pastor's kid from Ohio. Dean was beginning to see a problem with that.

"He's… sensitive about his house," he lied carefully, though that was necessarily untrue.

That earned him a scoffing laugh. "_I know. I know_," she replied.

Dean tried to point out the positives in the situation, if there were any. "If Gabriel left already, it must not be serious."

"_I'm _not_ sleeping upstairs_," Deborah said firmly, fear rising up in her voice.

"Good. Try to get some rest though," Dean said, smiling grimly even though she couldn't see. "Late night scares… ha. Must not be too good for a baby."

Deborah made a soft sighing sound. "_No_," she agreed. "_Not good for _me_, either_."

After a tense goodbye, Dean was left sitting there, reeling with what he had just been told. Phantom repetitive noises, manifestations, repeating dreams—all at the place of a tragic death. Bobby was not going to take kindly to accusation that his home was haunted, but if the shoe fits…

Just when he and Castiel had made the agreement to look for Crowley, this happens. They had bigger fish to fry than a damn haunting. But this was too close to home. It had to be handled.

More than anything, Bobby's feelings had to take the back seat on this. They didn't have anywhere else to put Deborah or the baby. The idea that Bobby would kick the pregnant woman out because of this… was strangely not that unbelievable. Dean gripped his head, trying to stay calm. The urge to drag Castiel down to Earth again was overwhelming, but if it was just a ghost, he could handle it. It was Bobby he was more concerned with handling, but that had to fall to Dean anyway.

They had to approach this, _calmly_.

**0000**

Deborah was not that surprised—well, not completely at least—to find Gabriel poof into existence next to her on the couch (her chosen replacement bed) in front of the TV. The only reason she had been expecting it was because _Maury_ was on specifically to lure him in. She had learned his weaknesses early on.

"We were waiting for you to show up," she said, knowing she sounded grouchy. She had had about two hours sleep in the last fourteen hours waiting for Dean to arrive.

Gabriel was shameless. "Miss me that much?" he taunted, grabbing the bowl of popcorn, which had suddenly become coated with caramel. "Ooh, I love the paternity test parts. Is this episode almost done?"

"Gabriel, did you know about the ghosts?" Deborah demanded, not wanting to put up with his behavior today.

The angel didn't even pause as he threw the popcorn back like he did every other sweet food. "Nope," he said cheerfully. "Very clever of it, really, only showing up at certain times. I don't stick around this close while you kids are snoozing, ya see. Kinda boring."

Deborah stared at him blearily. "Right." She sat back further into the couch, her gaze never wavering. "Well, as much as I hate asking favors, my fair guardian angel, but could you, um, get rid of it?"

Never in her life did she imagine being snarky with an archangel—but _damn_ it, she was sick of his attitude. If she got negative points for this later when her soul was judged, well, she would blame it on hormones.

"Nope," was the only cheeky response she got back.

He crunched the candied corn pleasantly, even while Deborah's stare had turned into a glare.

"Are you serious?" she demanded, really, _really_ not in the mood.

"Dean-o's pulling up the drive now," Gabriel said, unapologetic. "I don't want to steal the limelight from him."

Deborah pinched the bridge of her nose, even when she heard the Impala park out on the rocky driveway and Dean greet Bobby briskly at the door. Since when had life come to this?

Gabriel broke out into hysterical laughter when the results of the paternity test were shown. Deborah promptly threw her pillow at his face.

**0000**

Bobby was generally as friendly as a wild bear. That night, he was about as friendly as a rabid, wild bear.

"There is _no_ Goddamn _ghost_ in my _house_!" the older hunter snarled, moving around almost like he was going to start throwing things. Dean held his hands up in both defense and peacekeeping.

"I know, but we need to check just in case," he said, trying to keep this reasonable.

Bobby did not look ready to talk reasonably. "It's impossible, Dean! Ya came out here for nothin'!"

"Deborah was pretty sure of what she saw," Dean shot back, eyes narrowing. "Why the hell would she make that up? Now, of all times?"

"Maybe its just nerves. Or hormones. I don't know!"

Bracing himself, Dean decided to cut to the chase. "She dreamed about Karen," he said quickly, trying to get it all out, like he was ripping off a Band-Aid.

Bobby stared at him with a stunned look that quickly changed into something darker and far more dangerous. Dean held his ground, though he vividly contemplated praying Castiel down there, politics or no.

"Don't," Bobby began, a threat resonating in his voice. "Don't you… _dare_ bring her into this again, boy."

He was treading on thin ice already, but Dean knew they had to confront this, just on the off chance his fears were correct. They couldn't _risk_ it. "If it is her doing this, we have to handle it," Dean began, forcing himself to be firm.

Bobby raised a threatening finger at him, shaking his head slowly. "No. No way in _HELL_ is this happening, boy!" he snapped. "You want me to help you take care of some girl out of no where and play along with some kind of master plan you're not even sharin' with me? Fine. But don't you even think about turning this into some kind of ghost hunt in my own home!"

"Bobby, don't be pigheaded about this, damn it," Dean shot back. "I know this is hard for you, but let me at least see what's going on—!"

"You don't _get_ it, you idjit!" Bobby swore. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, taking a deep breath. "I _told_ you before, I cremated her…both times. Hell, you were there the second time, and there ain't a scrap of her DNA anywhere around here!"

He exhaled sharply and looked away. Dean watched him, feeling like an asshole for even having to drag this up, but if Deborah was telling the truth, this couldn't just be left to fester.

Bobby closed his eyes once for a few moments before opening them. "I level with you, something's happening around that girl in there," he began quietly, lifting his eyes to meet Dean's. "But it ain't my wife."

Dean nodded stiffly, praying that it wasn't. Bobby couldn't go through this again. None of them could.

"I'm going to wait and see what I find tonight," he said, glancing upwards. "We'll see what we're dealing with then."

Bobby huffed and growled out more half-serious threats, but didn't chase Dean out the door, not yet at least. Deborah had chased Gabriel out before Dean had the chance to talk to him, but he'd be back in the morning. The entire house settled in for what felt like a battle.

Dean had a feeling this would be a long night, regardless of what he found.

**0000**

He hated being right.

At three AM on the dot, Dean heard a ball bouncing across the upper floor of the house. He had been dozing on Deborah's floor, with her camping out in the living room. He waited for a moment and the bouncing stopped. He hadn't slept much, so he hadn't experienced any dreams. Apparently, he didn't have to.

He saw it. Well, her. A little girl in white rushed into the room, almost too faint to be seen against the dark bedroom backdrop. There was no sound as she moved, though Dean got the feeling she would have been crying. She got to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, the one Deborah had mentioned, and then—stopped. Her body jerking strangely to the side, her head was twisted and canted to the side as if someone had just broken her neck with one clean move—and then she vanished, disappearing into nothing.

Dean stared at the spot, swallowing nervously. A death echo. _Here_? Of all places? Since when the hell did Bobby's house have a freaking death echo? Unless Bobby hadn't told them the truth of the house. Maybe it was from before Bobby lived there. Dean had no idea how old the house was, or if Bobby would even be honest with him about the age. And what did Karen have to do with any of this, if this was a kid's spirit?

Something did not feel right about this. At all.

The sound of soft footsteps running made Dean look to the hallway again and something akin to dread gripped his gut. Gabriel had vacated the premises again, the useless dick, and Deborah and Bobby weren't going to be moving around like that. When he got to the door, he didn't see anything on either end of the corridor. Something felt off about the house now, though. He had never felt the once-comfortable dwelling feel so…

Dark.

Creeping forward toward the stairs, Dean wasn't sure what he was going to find. Bobby was in his bedroom, asleep, and Deborah was passed out on the couch in the living room. Everything else about the first level of the house seemed still and otherwise not ghost-infected.

And then he looked up, toward the kitchen. It was screwed to hell, with broken glass everywhere, though he hadn't heard any kind of commotion and he knew Bobby wouldn't have slept through that. Dean walked up as quietly as he could as he took in the glittering mess strewn all over the tiles. Reaching over, he flipped the kitchen light on—and then everything was fine. As if the light had wiped away the mess.

"What the hell…" Dean whispered, eyes squinting in both confusion and from the light. What sort of death echo was—

He heard a short, girlish giggle behind him before something—someone—knocked him to the floor.

Dean grunted as whatever it was climbed on top of him, abnormally strong, small hands gripping at his jacket and then throat. In the searing light of the kitchen's overhanging fixture, Dean could see a pale, dark haired little girl, not unlike the one from the wardrobe. Whether or not it was the same girl he had no idea, but as she attempted to strangle him, Dean couldn't shake the feeling he had seen her somewhere before.

Well, he thought absently as he wrangled with a dead girl's hands, he had never expected a simple haunting like this to bring back such fond memories of times before angelic intervention. It was almost fucking nostalgic.

Summoning more strength that he remembered having, Dean shoved the girl backwards, scrambling up at the same moment. He was hurled clear across the kitchen into the study, but that was where he was headed anyway. Just when he felt the tiny hands grip his back again, Dean's hand snaked out and grabbed a hold of the iron-wrought fire poker that had fallen from the fireplace holder.

The ghost didn't make a sound when he slammed the iron poker right through her. She simply vanished into ashy smoke, leaving Dean gasping on the floor and the sound of Bobby and Deborah waking and panicking ruined the aching silence permeating the building.

What… the _hell_. Dean blinked, coughing slightly as he sat up. That was not a death echo. They—they could do that. What the hell _was_ this? Maybe this had nothing to do with Bobby or his house. Maybe it was something bigger than just some memory being played out over and over.

Tomorrow, Dean decided, they were going to talk. _All_ of them.

**0000**

He had expected to wake up facing a grim line up of questioning and denial. Instead, Dean woke up to the smell of pancakes. He woke up in the spare bedroom he and Sam would share whenever they were over at Bobby's, though not much of anything in it belonged to either of them. Just spare beds and a dresser. He had never questioned why Bobby kept the purple room off limits—until now. He'd know for sure later, but now… he knew Bobby had been hiding something. Today, they'd learn what, no matter if it killed them.

When he went downstairs, all he saw was Gabriel lounging casually at the kitchen table and Dean wanted to punch the smug bastard in the face, broken hand resulting from it be damned. Deborah was also there, setting the table, but the source of the smell was coming from the table. A large stack of pancakes sat tantalizingly in the open, but judging by Deborah's scowl, she hadn't made them.

"Morning, Sundrop!" Gabriel said brightly, as if nothing were wrong.

Dean flipped him the finger, angry and exhausted. "You are such a dick," he snarled, refusing to sit at the same table as him.

"Whaaaat?" Gabriel asked, feigning innocent hurt. He gestured at the pancakes, as if that made up for his stunning lack of attendance during this whole mess. "It's Tuesday!" He leered. "How about a pig 'n' a poke?"

"Fuck you, Chuckles," Dean snarled. Deborah just sighed and sat down to pick at her own meal. She apparently didn't like magic'd up food. Dean didn't blame her paranoia. "Where's Bobby?"

Deborah looked up, silently, and Dean turned to see Bobby standing in the doorway, looking as if he were headed to his execution rather than a group conference.

"Morning, bobby," Dean began, deciding to cut to the chase. He grinned with a faux-cheer. "You all freshened up?"

"I was fresh until you woke us up knocking shit over last night in my study," Bobby quipped back. He refused to sit near Gabriel at the table. "What the devil was that all about?"

Dean braced himself. "You have a ghost. More than one," he said bluntly. He kept going, over Bobby's immediate rejection of the idea. "Listen to me, Bobby, I know what I saw. I didn't want to drag it out last night, but you saw what it did to me. It's not like I fling myself over furniture for the hell of it."

"You're outta your Goddamn mind," Bobby said, irritable. He refused to look at Dean now, glaring off into the distance. "My house ain't haunted. There ain't no way!"

Sleep deprivation and general anxiety pressing on his nerves, Dean glared back at his friend. "Bobby, I know what I saw," he said, desperately trying not to shout. "It might not have been Karen, but if there is any reason why two psycho twins in white would be haunting your house, now's the time to—"

All of a sudden, it came back to him.

"…Holy shit." Dean blinked, mind reeling. "I knew I had seen them before."

Two little girls. Bobby. Dark hair. White dresses. Accusing Bobby of letting a monster get them…

In a closet.

Oh, God.

"What?" Bobby demanded, eyes wild.

"…The rise of the witnesses," Dean managed to say, startling Bobby. He fixed a strained look on his friend, now feeling ill. "The first Revelations bullshit we went through. There were two girls. You…"

At the table, Gabriel just kept smiling and Deborah, in the middle of standing up, looked confused. Bobby just looked like Dean had shot him in the gut. "What?" the older hunter challenged, his voice louder.

For some reason, Dean's instincts were screaming that this was the right direction to head in. "…Bobby, who were those two girls?" he asked, lowering his arms from his chest. "The two victims you couldn't help before."

Bobby started to turn red in the face. "I-I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he sputtered, anger covering up his surprise, falteringly. "It had been—I _messed_ up. That's done with now, Dean."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "The hell it isn't." He stepped closer, knowing he had to keep going with this. "Who are they?"

The kitchen fell silent, other than bobby's heavy breathing through the nose. Gabriel and Deborah were just watching, with opposing expressions of mirth and wary unease. Bobby's eyes never left Dean's, both hunters radiating a building sense of aggression between them.

Dean exhaled sharply. "Bobby, they're targeting Deborah," he said, eyes narrowed and hard. He had to be firm with this. They didn't have the luxury of anything else.

"Then get her out of the house," Bobby said, voice shaking. Dean couldn't tell if it was from anger or something else, but at that particular point in time, _he didn't care_.

"You're really going to kick a pregnant woman out on the street where her child's survival is what's keeping the whole damn world alive?" Dean began, voicing rising louder than it should have. He didn't point at Deborah, who looked terribly out of place at the moment. He pointed upwards instead, at the bastards who did this to them. "Bobby, for the love of _GOD_, would you listen to yourself? Did we really go through Heaven, Hell and every other asshole monster last year for this?" Heart clenching, Dean went further. "Did Sam die for you to pussy out when we need your help to make his sacrifice worth something—? !"

That was enough to push Bobby off his faux ledge of calmness. "_Don't_ make this into something about Sam, Goddamn it," he started. "This has _nothing_ to do with him, or Karen or—!"

Dean crossed the distance between them, fists clenched at his sides. "_BULLSHIT_," he shouted, even though Bobby never flinched. "Who the _hell_ are they? !"

"You…" Bobby started to say, but he stopped. He looked away, unable to meet Dean's gaze any longer.

Inhaling, Dean tried to remember how to give a talk like this, of trying to remind someone that he knew what loss was too. Just thinking about his own was enough to make him just as in denial as Bobby was.

"We have lost so much, Bobby. Me, you… Cas… Sam…" he began, voice quieter than earlier. He shook his head and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "We lost everyone we ever gave a damn about, except for each other. You really… you really think you're the only one who's had to deal with this?"

Bobby kept staring out at nothing. "No…" he said, voice barely there.

"Then just look me in the eye and tell me the truth." Dean waited until the other man finally did look up and met his gaze, both pairs of eyes shining. "_Please_, Bobby. I… I understand… not wanting to face it. But…"

They… of all people didn't have the luxury of grief, of ignoring it or what they had lost to begin with. They had to keep going for everyone else. Dean wished it could have been different, but he didn't know any other kind of life. Neither did Bobby.

Backing up, Dean let the older man stand there with his thoughts and hoped that he would make the right choice.

A minute later, Bobby moved back and leaned against the counter, facing Dean, but not looking him in the eye.

"…Olivia," he said, voice rough. "And Emily."

Dean nodded. "Who were they?" he asked.

It was almost disturbing to watch the old man in front of him and realize it was still Bobby. He looked so much more mortal than the usually strong hunter was. "My nieces," he said, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair before replacing the hat. Bobby seemed to brace himself. "Karen's sister's kids. We were supposed to be taking care of them while their mother was in the hospital."

The pause and the mention of Karen did not bode well. It didn't take much for Dean to piece together the missing pieces and…

"…don't… tell me," he said, mind going numb.

Bobby's eyes were fixed on the floor. "It was… the weekend it happened," he continued, voice empty of any kind of emotion. "When Karen died."

When she had been possessed. When Bobby had been forced to kill her. "…Bobby," Dean began, heart aching for his friend.

"I wasn't home when it happened. I got back afterwards," Bobby said, eyes more and more distant as he spoke. "I found Karen in the kitchen with Olivia. Emily had been upstairs by the wardrobe. She had been trying to hide."

Dean remembered the look of fear the echo of the girl upstairs had worn. The idea of being chased down and murdered by someone they had loved… None of it was fair. None of it made any sense.

"I had to stab Karen, just to get her to stop hurting Olivia. It was too late though," Bobby said. The older hunter looked upwards, again at nothing, his mind wrapped up in what had happened years ago. "I had to tell their mother, but that just made her weaker. She died. The following month."

Bobby paused and the kitchen just rang with an unnatural stillness. Dean looked over and saw Deborah giving Bobby a heartbroken look, even though she only knew half the story. Gabriel was just watching now, smile only partially there.

"Rufus wound up saving my life," Bobby continued. "Only reason I'm still here. He showed up just after I stabbed Karen. Excised the damn demon… but Karen was already dead at that point." He paused again. "I did it."

Dean wanted to tell Bobby right there that he understood. Making him talk about any of this was just as hurtful to Dean as it was to the older man, but… now at least it was out. Dean licked his lips, his entire mouth dry. He didn't want to have to be the one to drag it out further. Life wasn't about having good choices, especially not a Winchester life.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, "I'm so sorry, Bobby."

Bobby laughed shortly, the sound odd. "Karen was trying so hard to make it easier on the girls by painting up that room for them," he said, shaking his head. "I had noticed she was getting moodier, but I didn't think it was anythin' important." Bobby turned his head and met Dean's gaze without hesitating, the grief in his eyes faded with age. "That demon… took all three of them from me. From each other."

Dean stared back, heart aching. "We can't let this keep happening," he said quietly, hating that it was true.

Bobby ran a heavy hand over his face, looking far older than he was. "I don't know why it is. Why now?" he demanded, glancing around the kitchen, as if the answer lied there.

Deborah moved to the side, catching their attentions. "…Is it because of me?" she asked, looking scared. She looked down at her stomach, which was hardly anything to really note at that point. Dean had considered the "holy fetus attracting ghosts" idea earlier. It could have been a good theory for why things were starting up now.

Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly froze. He had been staring at Deborah at the time, who froze under the intense stare, as the look of comprehension on Bobby's face faded into a look of pure hatred. For a second, Dean almost wanted to let the older hunter have it for taking this out on the innocent woman—

When suddenly, Bobby turned and fixed his glare onto Gabriel, who had been utterly silent throughout the entire ordeal.

"You Goddamn son of a _bitch_," Bobby began, voice rising.

Gabriel smiled impishly. "Now, that's not very constructive, calling our Holy Father a female dog," he replied all-too happily.

"You fixed up the room… you stirred up the damn memories!" Bobby continued, swearing loudly. He moved forward, anger rolling off of him. "You did this!"

Scoffing, Gabriel waved an unimpressed hand. "I didn't do anything, old man," he said shortly. "I fixed up a room for the lady. Not my fault your skeletons in the closet were a _bit_ too literal."

Dean didn't have the chance to focus his anger at the archangel, because Bobby beat him to it. Bobby grabbed the archangel by the shirt and hurled him to the ground. Deborah gasped and hurried away from the table just in time for Bobby to un-holster his pistol.

With the uncanny speed Dean was used to from the older hunter, Bobby unloaded six shots into Gabriel's chest. Deborah screamed, flinging herself back into the kitchen wall, but she was the only one who reacted. Dean knew ordinary guns wouldn't do anything to an angel, since they did the same thing to Cas when they first met, and more than that, he knew angels well enough that if Bobby actually managed to hit one, it was because they had let him. Dicks.

Blood dramatically spreading across his chest, Gabriel gave Bobby a coy look from down on the floor. "Do you want me to just play dead 'til you feel better?" he asked, skirting the line between asshole and evil bastard skillfully. "I'm good at that."

Bobby loomed over the smaller man. "I already feel better," he snarled, breathing unsteadily as he lowered his gun. "I've been wanting to do that for a few weeks now."

Dean understood. He tried to kill Gabriel a few times now, but it never felt like it was enough, considering the bastard just got back up again afterwards. And just like he thought, the Gabriel on the floor faded into a blue mist and disappeared. A second later, a perfectly healthy Gabriel came walking in the side doorway looking smug, ignoring the horrified Deborah by the wall.

"Look, Bobby, I didn't _mean_ to stir up the memories," the angel began, holding up his hands in a peacekeeping gesture that Dean wasn't sure was real or not. "I was just trying to do Debbie here a favor. If I had known your dirty little secrets, I would have kept the room the way it was." The unspoken _Of Course I'm Lying_ rang clear in his voice.

"Dirty secrets" was a bad way to put it. Bobby's red face never went back down to its normal color. Slamming the gun down on the table, Bobby stalked out of the kitchen. Dean watched him until he disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door shut forcefully, the bang echoing across the house.

Yikes.

There wasn't time to sulk, though. Dean looked over at Deborah, who was paler than ever, and was clinging to the wall as if she literally had frozen to the surface.

Clearing his throat, Dean got her attention. "You alright?" he asked quietly.

Deborah stared at him, fear and disbelief etched into her face. "…You're all insane," she whimpered, eyes wide.

That was not something Dean was going to deny. He sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yeah, they screwed this one up. At least she wasn't hurt by the ghosts, or too traumatized to stick around. The last thing they needed was for her to decide to move in somewhere else.

"Gabriel, take her outside, or into town, okay?" Dean ordered, turning to look at the angel in question near the stove. "Can you not fuck _that_ up, please?"

Gabriel flashed him an arrogant look, before taking the still-shocked Deborah by the arm gallantly, leading her toward the back door, talking animatedly about turning the maze of cars outside into an amusement park. Dean sincerely hoped the angel was just trying to be funny, but hopefully a chest full of lead would be enough of a lesson for that idiot not to mess with Bobby's land anymore.

Gathering his own nerves, Dean went after Bobby.

0000

They found the remaining bits of the girls for the rest of the day. Bobby spent most of it drinking his way through, but they found it all, with no help from Gabriel.

Bobby told Dean, that he made that wardrobe upstairs for the girls for their second birthday and they had loved it dearly. The molding on the bottom was clay, and their hand and foot prints were in them. Dean found a dark strand of hair in the white cabinet that didn't match Deborah's. Bobby never thought of looking for any of those things, because he never thought it would be a problem. It hadn't been. But there was no time for regrets.

They took the wardrobe outside and Dean just wanted to torch it, but Bobby wanted to be more thorough. He was outside with an axe and the wardrobe for almost an hour before he came back in ready to go.

"There was blood stains inside it," he said quietly, as Dean started covering the wood remains with gasoline. "Ya know, I never looked in it after everything that happened. Emily must've hid from Karen in there and caught herself on a nail."

He stared at the wood before throwing a match on it, setting the whole thing up in a brilliant flare.

"I'm too damn tired," Bobby said, far too quiet for the older hunter.

Dean stared at him across the fire, wanting to offer some sort of apology or an offering of some kind—but what the hell could he even say?

"I'm sorry, Bobby," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I am."

Bobby just nodded and stood by the woodpile until there was nothing but ashes. Dean left him there and sat on the porch, his heart numb in his chest.

**0000**

Gabriel didn't have to turn around to know Deborah Garrison was walking up behind him. She was the only one on the property who owned tennis shoes, after all. He was perched on top of a still-intact car toward the edge of the lot. Deborah managed to climb up beside him and the two sat in silence, watching the waning South Dakota skyline. Gabriel wondered if she knew how many eyes they actually had on them at the moment. He doubted she'd like to know.

"Why didn't you just get rid of the ghosts?" she asked suddenly, sounding calm. How the hell she hadn't gone insane yet, Gabriel was still marveling at.

"Why?" he responded, chewing on a _Twizzler_ stick he had conjured up. He thought about offering her some, but remembered she hated licorice. He laughed. "Huh. I thought _they'd_ at least figure it out."

Deborah sighed and cast him a sidelong glance. "I don't think they want to," she said simply.

They sat quietly as the sky darkened. Gabriel leaned back further, pursing his lips.

"…Listen, Deborah," he began, choosing his words carefully. Or not so much. He wasn't sure how to say anything around any of the humans lately. "You're new at this whole… _wonderful_ life the rest of us have. You know, the losing everything and then some for the greater good. You're becoming a fast learner, I bet, but you've never lost like these idiots have."

Deborah stared at him, still calm. "So?"

Gabriel gestured out at the air absently. "I was trying to prove a point here," he said, finally breaking it down to simpler terms. He nodded his head back at the house. "Those… _idjits_ in there? They know loss. They _live_ and _breathe_ loss. It's all that defines them now, Castiel included. But…"

All of them had that, actually. Deborah stared at him, taking in what he said, before sighing quietly again.

"They don't know how to _deal_ with it, though," she continued, catching on. She folded her hands in her lap, looking tired. "_That's_ what you were trying to prove." She didn't sound happy in the conclusion, but at least she got it.

He somehow found the strength to grin at her broadly. "Exactly. Exactly, Deborah."

Gabriel wasn't sure if Dean would get that lesson. After all, Gabriel was playing _angel_ again, not _Trickster_. He could have, and probably should have, just wiped the spirits out of the house himself, but what would that have done? Habits died hard and this one had just… walked into his line of sight. Dean Winchester had to grieve. He hadn't yet. He finally got to see his mentor and only family left get all that off his chest, and _still_ hadn't gotten the message for himself.

Well, Dean would find out in time, then. Gabriel knew that for a fact. From experience.

"…What about you?" Deborah asked abruptly.

"What about me?" he asked, glancing at her. She was just looking at him quietly, as if trying to analyze him too.

"You've lost, too," she said, far too wisely. "Do you deal with it?"

Gabriel _stared_ at her, saying nothing. He didn't… have anything to say. He dealt with things his own way. He didn't need reminders of it.

That didn't stop the feeling of fear and doubt that surged in his chest, mixing with Grace, reminding him of all the things he hadn't dealt with yet.

Looking away, Deborah stared up at the sky again. "I'm scared," she said quietly, tucking her chin under her knees. She looked far smaller and mortal like that.

Part of him wanted to curl up into a substance so small, he could be forgotten by Raphael or Grander Plans, too. But him hiding that way was about as good as Deborah curling up on the car right there. Useless.

"…Me too, kid," he muttered, craning his head back. "Me, too."

**0000**

The next morning was awkward in the Singer household. Bobby hadn't slept that night. He spent the night with Jack Daniels. Dean was surprised the other hunter was even coherent when he got his stuff together to leave. He had to meet Castiel in another state after all, so he didn't have time to dawdle. He said his goodbyes to a very grateful Deborah, flipped Gabriel off one more time for good measure, and then went to find his foster father.

He found him out by the Impala, as if Bobby had anticipated this talk earlier. Dean slowed down walking in front of Bobby, nodding stiffly.

"You and Cas got a plan of action?" Bobby asked.

"None other than just keep waiting for signs," Dean said, glancing upwards for a moment. "He wants to check out the south. Maybe Texas."

"Hmm."

Dean sighed quietly and ran a hand over his face. "You okay, Bobby?" That was a bad question to ask any of them, but he had to ask.

Bobby glared at Dean. "Don't start," he began.

Waving his hand, Dean cut him off. "I just want to let you know," he said, even though he suddenly felt ill thinking about it. "I'm sorry, for all of this. You did the right thing, Bobby."

The older hunter looked away and Dean got his attention, making sure he was listening.

"This wasn't your fault," he said, forcing himself to sound strong. "_None_ of it was. You have to remember that, Bobby."

"I know, boy," Bobby said. He sounded like he tried to be angry, but it fell flat. It was just another fellow broken man speaking.

Dean smiled thinly and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You… gave me and Sam a place to call home when everything else had been taken from us." Glancing to the side, Dean shook his head. "I wish… I wish everything could be different, but it's not. We have to keep going." He looked up and met Bobby's unwavering stare. "It's not our fault things happen to us."

Sam, his father, his mother—it was his burden, but not his fault. If he believed anything else, or if Bobby believed the same for his own situation, they never would be able to get up in the morning and just keep on living.

"If you need me to talk to… or just… anything… you know you can call me," Dean said, meaning it, even if it was awkward to get out.

Bobby scoffed. "I know."

"Thank you," Dean said, nodding his head, trying to keep some semblance of emotional control. "For everything."

Tilting his head back to look at the sky, Bobby seemed to look just a little better. His eyes were less tortured when he looked back down at Dean. "Just… do what you have to, boy. Save the world," he said. He sighed, exhausted. "Fix this. Or else everything really has been for nothing."

No one had to tell Dean that. "Right." He smiled, though it didn't really carry over to his eyes or heart. He reached out and clasped Bobby's shoulder, shaking him gently. "Call if you need anything, Bobby," he said again.

"Same to you, idjit," Bobby shot back gruffly, the fondness in his eyes not missed by Dean.

Climbing in the Impala, Dean watched Bobby retreat back into the house, probably surrounded by memories and regrets. For once, Dean hoped Gabriel would provide as many distractions for them all as possible. It might keep them all sane, for at least a little longer.

He turned his gaze southward and drove.

_Whenever you're ready, Cas._

_._

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**End **_**Week Nine**_**.**

_**Next**_**: Their search becomes a **_**Where's Waldo**_** mock-up, Dean has dreams and then, suddenly, shit gets **_**real**_**.**

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**A/Ns**  
-In case you didn't catch it, **the little girls are actually canon characters**. In the "Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester" episode, Bobby is confronted by two little girls and we receive no real back story for them. :) Ed had the idea to expand on their relationship, which gave way to this chapter. Yay for plot holes!


	11. Week 12

_**Revelations**_**  
Week 12**  
By Nan00k

Thank you for the reviews everyone!

The boys go to Texas, but unfortunately for Castiel, they don't find Crowley or Jesse there. They find something much worse. D: Poor baby.

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**Warnings**: graphic **violence**, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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_**Nebraska**_

Castiel got the next real lead from Raphael's people, strangely enough. It wasn't like Heaven had the resources to track down one single demon, Castiel repeatedly told Dean when he asked about Crowley, but the sudden surge of demons down south was too much to ignore. They had another, more important mission to handle foremost and that was finding Jesse.

"Texas?" Dean repeated, glancing at the angel as he drove through more bland American landscape.

Castiel merely nodded, knowing his friend's irritation was directed at their situation rather than himself. That was the only comfort he could take from the moment, however. "Several hundred demons swarmed in Lamesa, Texas," he replied. "We might as well take it up as a lead for where Jesse is."

Dean sighed heavily and fixed his eyes out on the road. "Well, here's to another fourteen hours driving nonstop," he muttered.

"I could fly us there," Castiel said, glancing at him and Dean glanced back.

"No offense Cas, because I trust you as far as my life…" the human began, humor and seriousness mixed in his eyes, "but I don't trust you with my baby. Not unless it's do or die, man."

Perhaps he could have taken offense at that, but Castiel just nodded, smiling quietly. He was just beginning to understand the attachment humans had to material things. It wasn't a bad thing. Just… human.

"You staying for the ride?" Dean asked, sounding forcefully disinterested. Castiel didn't mention the slight tremor. The loneliness.

Castiel sat back further in the seat of the car as they drove over smooth asphalt. "For as long as you will have me, Dean," he replied calmly. He waited for a rejection, if there was one.

As expected, Dean just smirked and shrugged. Music sang from the speakers and Castiel found himself finding a chance to catch a metaphorical breath. He had finally returned to Heaven and, perhaps, his brothers and sisters had achieved their own peace…

But he never felt better sitting there next to the broken human.

Closing his eyes, Castiel pretended to be thinking of battle plans for once they reached Texas, even as he spent most of his time counting heartbeats and breaths coming from Dean.

In someway, he had found something better than Heaven right there. He wasn't going to complain.

**0000**

_**Oklahoma**_

Dean checked into another roadside motel several hours later, back aching. He was never one to hate driving, but only driving for an entire day was just plain exhausting. They would reach Lamese the next day. Until then, all he wanted as a decent mattress and a shower. Castiel gave him a nod goodbye once he pulled into the motel parking lot (it looked rattier than the usual spot, but Dean just wanted some sleep at that point) and then vanished. Same old, same old.

With a single's key in hand, Dean stumbled into a bare, but not too awful bedroom. It even had a mini-fridge in the corner. He was only interested in the bathroom and the bed, though. After fumbling around, he finally got his wishes.

"Ugh…" He groaned as he hit the light and sank into darkness and a semi-soft bed. The blankets sort of smelled like cigarettes, but he wasn't about to complain if he got some sleep—

"_You're still looking for Jesse_?"

"Yeah?" Dean shot back, defensive although he wasn't sure why.

Sam made a tsking sound and took up one of his bitch faces. "_I thought you were looking for Crowley_," clearly not having much faith in Dean's plans.

Standing opposite of him, Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. We are," he said, now feeling like he had to defend his actions from his over analytical brother, as usual.

"_But now you're looking for Jesse_," Sam replied, arching an eyebrow. Above them, the tree hardly swayed under a nonexistent wind.

"We can multitask," Dean said firmly. He paused and looked upwards. "We still got eight months."

"_To find the Antichrist _and_ the new King of Hell_?" Sam asked, incredulous. When Dean looked back at him, Sam shook his head. "_Dean… don't you think you should take this one step at a time?_"

"We're doing our damn best," Dean snapped. He hesitated and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't know why he was so frustrated. They were trying. They really were.

Sam nodded, pensive. "_You and Cas_."

"Yeah." Dean sighed, nodding back. "Because…"

Everything slowed down. He forgot to breathe. Looking up, he saw Sam staring at him in a show of eternal patience.

Sam.

"Because you're not there," Dean said, his own voice startling him. It was too quiet now.

A shimmer of something flashed over Sam's eyes. Maybe regret. "_I'm sorry_," he said, voice too quiet to distinguish if he meant it or not. "_You wish I was there. Instead of Castiel. Don't you?_"

The question caught him off guard. But he didn't care about answering. All he could do was stare at Sam, the pond and the trees almost fading. Everything faded and all he could see was Sam standing there, waiting.

"Why did you jump?" Dean asked, voice piercing _everything_.

That actually made the taller man pause. "_Dean_…" he began quietly.

"Why?" Dean asked again, heart racing for some reason. He stepped closer and trembled. "Why did you jump?"

Sam just stared at Dean and smiled sadly in reply. Dean felt his heart break. He reached out and grabbed Sam by the collar. Sam let him, never moving an inch.

"SAM!" he shouted, slamming him into the tree. "WHY DID YOU _DO_ THIS? !"

Why did he do that? Why did he do that him? To Dean? To HIM? Why did he leave him all alone, with all of this mess, when there was a damn thing he or anyone else could do for Sam when everything Dean was supposed to be had crumbled the big brother the family the protector all of it had FAILED—

"Dean!"

Eyes searing, Dean woke up facing darkness. It was still night out, with streams of light from the lamps outside breaking through the ratty curtains on the windows. He saw someone standing next to the bed, and for a moment, he thought it was Sam.

The trench coat gave it away, however. "Cas?" Dean rasped, sitting up, mind stumbling to keep up. "What's wrong?"

"I heard you," the angel said, sounding almost… mad. He moved to the side to let Dean turn the bedside lamp on. He didn't have to squint like Dean did from the onslaught of light that resulted. "Your dreams. You were very… loud."

"Jesus…" Dean ran a heavy hand over his face. What had he been dreaming of? "Sorry. Didn't think you were still listening in."

Castiel tilted his head, frowning. "Only when you shout," he replied. Dean wasn't sure if the angel had just tried sarcasm or not. It was too freaking early for it, anyway.

"I said sorry," Dean said, trying not to snap. He stared up at Castiel blearily. "What? It was just a dream."

He didn't like the way Castiel was staring at him still. The sleep in his eyes made it difficult to decipher the expression the angel was wearing at first, but as they adjusted, Dean could see confusion, wariness… pity.

"You were with Sam," Castiel said plainly, even though his words were like a fist to the gut.

Dean stared back, forcing himself to keep calm. "Yeah?" he asked, hating how he sounded defensive. He yanked the bedcovers up from where he had tossed them. "Well, can't say I have much control over that, Cas. What I dream."

He missed seeing the hesitance that flashed over Castiel; instead, he felt it through the air. Dean exhaled softly, stopping his movements.

After what seemed like forever, Castiel spoke up. "I apologize if it was upsetting," he said simply. "It was very vivid for a dream. It caught my attention."

"Well, don't make it a habit dream walking on my thoughts, okay?" Dean said shortly, unable to keep his patience. He was damn tired. "It was just a dream."

Castiel stared down at him, eyes distant. "Yes. It was just a dream," he repeated.

When the angel didn't disappear, Dean glanced up at him. "You gonna stand there all night?" he demanded. It was mean to shove the angel away when he had just been concerned, but he didn't feel like being nice.

That time, he didn't miss the flinch from the angel. Castiel held his gaze for a moment, before looking away.

"I'll be near," he said simply before disappearing, leaving Dean sitting there alone.

Chilled to the bone, Dean hit the light and willed himself to get some real sleep.

**0000**

It was a Saturday afternoon when they reached Lamese, Texas. Dean checked into a motel to set up a base camp, because to be honest, not even Castiel knew what to expect. Dean had been glad the angel had been aloof for most of the day's drive down. When he finally did appear in the Impala's passenger seat, Castiel seemed perfectly ready to ignore the tense situation they had had the previous night, which was just fine by Dean.

"Where are we looking first?" he asked, eyes skimming the sidewalks as they drove through the town. "This place is pretty big for a demon get-together."

"I cannot sense anything out of the ordinary, but that could be interference from Jesse," Castiel replied, watching the people outside the car.

Dean hummed. "Well, I guess we should look for the more secluded areas. If I was that kid, I would want to be away from everyone," he said. There were several older warehouses on the outskirts of the city, from the town's industrial background. Big empty warehouses were evil's favorite recluse, from what he learned.

"Why?" Castiel asked, frowning.

Sighing, Dean shrugged as they began to lose sight of the bustling side of town. "Well, that's what happened the first time. He left because he was sick of everyone interfering with his life," he said, frowning. "Don't see why that would be different now."

"If he chooses to attack the Host…" Castiel began, a warning rearing up in his voice.

They turned off onto another road. Dean could see a large silo looming over the tree tops. It looked promising. "He won't," he replied, sure of it.

Castiel stared at him with a guarded look. "You have a lot of faith in the Antichrist." He almost sounded amused.

"I thought me and Sam were the Antichrist figures here," Dean said, smirking. Castiel didn't smile back, though Dean was pretty sure the angel got the message. "I have faith in a thirteen year old boy doing the right thing. He did it at age ten. He can do it again."

The angel was quiet for a moment before nodding slightly. "…Perhaps," he agreed.

They fell back into silence and it was well timed, because Dean suddenly got the feeling they were in the right part of town. The silo was on a large fenced in property that seemed like it had been abandoned ages ago. Maybe an old oil refinery. He was more interested in the large metal building at the center of the compound, which would have been great for hiding an army. Or a child.

The fence was down by entrance, so Dean eased the Impala closer. If they needed to make a quick getaway, he wanted the car facing the other way toward the road again. They couldn't be too careful.

"Well, ain't this creepy. Must be the place," Dean whistled as he stepped out of the car. Everything was incredibly still around the entire place, except for crickets chirping. "You sense anything, Spidey?"

"No," Castiel replied automatically, not even paying mind to the reference. He stepped out of the passenger side and peered out at the building with narrowed eyes. "It is far too quiet, however."

Dean was inclined to agree with that analysis. Everything around the factory was rusted and at least twenty years old. Nothing moved. The sun was setting slowly, so they only had a few daylight hours left to do a proper search before things got even creepier.

Such was the average job for Dean Winchester. He sighed and led the march over the weed-infested asphalt.

Castiel followed silently as they inspected the exterior of the building. Windows were smashed, but nothing screamed out demonic to Dean. Castiel never responded at all, so there must not have been demons around. Or they were being hidden. With Jesse involved, Dean realized they had to expect the unexpected on a whole new level. The kid could create anything from nothing, after all, so demons hiding in the walls had to be anticipated.

After what seemed like forever peering around, they started to walk toward one of the obviously locked doors. It wouldn't take much for either angel or hunter to kick it down, but before they even got close, Castiel spoke up.

"Dean."

The hunter froze, but obediently turned to face Castiel, who was no longer gazing up at the building. His intense eyes were fixed on Dean's. "What?" Dean asked, trying not to be defensive. He didn't like how Castiel was suddenly focused on him; they were on a job after all.

"It's okay," Castiel said suddenly, startling Dean. He paused and added with a respectfully distant voice, "That you dreamt of Sam."

Oh. That's what he meant. Dean stared at the angel and tried to think of something intelligent and yet not asshole-like to say in reply.

"…Yeah," he bit out, failing at least on the first level. He forced himself to remember that Castiel was socially inept. He said stupid things, but that was okay. Dean turned around, trying to think of only finding Jesse inside.

"You haven't grieved yet," Castiel continued ignorantly, walking behind Dean. He radiated patience and not pity. That was the only reason Dean had the strength not to react in anger.

"Cas, this ain't exactly the best time for a man-to-man chat," Dean shot back, gritting his teeth.

There was a few seconds of silence and Dean thought it was over. He had reached the metal security door and pushed on it experimentally. It had to be broken down from the inside, unfortunately.

"…I never know," Castiel said, voice quiet.

Dean froze and looked up at his friend. The angel had walked up closer, but stayed a few feet back, watching Dean.

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"The right time," Castiel answered, jaw tense with… apology? Or was that self-irritation. "For these sorts of things."

This was not what Dean wanted. Not now. He didn't want to talk about things that fucking mattered. Withholding a sigh, he struggled to find his own patience.

"…You try. I appreciate it, even if you're annoying," he said, forcing a grin. He nodded back at the security door, planning to direct the angel into flying inside to unlock it for him or just knock it down. "Focus on finding the demons for now, okay, Cas—?"

Without any warning, the security door ripped open, slamming into Dean, and sent him flying across the black top. He hit the ground hard, pain ricocheting up his arm and shoulder until he skid to a stop. His face scraped against the rough ground and everything spun.

And then, instinct kicked in. He heard Castiel snarl something and then screeching. Everywhere.

Demons.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore, struggling to get up and hand going for the knife on his hip. All he saw was Castiel's coat swing by and something else moving on just beyond him. "Cas—!"

A leg came up and slammed into Dean's stomach. He fell back down, wheezing against obviously cracked ribs. Maybe broken. Someone reached down and grabbed him by the scalp, dragging him up against the protest of his ribs.

"Dean Winchester," the demon in front of him snarled with a bright grin on its face. Its poor host's eyes were black. "Where ever is your better half? Or would he be the worst?"

"Fuck off!" Dean shouted back, grabbed a hold of the hands on his head. He couldn't budge the hand, but if he could just reach for his knife—

Castiel appeared, as always, without warning, but that was okay. He could remove the hands and did so without breaking a sweat. There was fresh blood on his coat sleeve as he snapped the wrist of the demon, who howled and jerked away. Castiel reached out and excised the demon out of the host with a flash of light.

Before Dean had the chance to feel good about their change in luck, he realized Castiel was still looking around the compound with wild, dangerous eyes. They weren't alone, it seemed.

This was all going to hell rather fast for Dean's taste. "Is Jesse—? !" he began, trying to stand again. His ribs were _killing_ him.

"No, just demons," Castiel said, glancing at Dean urgently. "Get ready to mov—!"

Dean almost blinked, but he was glad he didn't. He would have missed a black blur appear out of no where right in front of his eyes—which proceeded to slam straight into Castiel and sent him across the yard in the opposite way.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, stumbling. He couldn't move, not that fast.

Castiel was on the ground—on the _ground_—and what was standing over him looked like just another demon. But it couldn't be. Not with the way Castiel was looking at it. Dean thought about going for his gun, but he doubted it'd be much use. The knife burned in his hand.

"You are one of the Fallen," Castiel grit out, kneeling now. He eyed the demon above him with a fierce glare. "The ones who chose to Fall with Lucifer."

The demon—angel?—grinned maliciously. "Aww, little brother remembers me. How cute," he sneered, before lunging once again.

Dean remembered reading all the shit Sam would send his way for "research" after they had met Castiel and his merry family of creeps in the first few weeks. The Old Testament mostly, but the longest (and most boring) had been something called _Paradise Lost_. Fallen angels. Lots of them. Princes of Hell. Dean remembered that much.

Yeah, things really, really could not have gotten any worse than they were.

The two angels, well angel and demon, continued to fight, dodging each other with far more speed and skill than Dean even wished he had. Castiel never broke a sweat, though. He was Castiel, after all.

"All of this work for nothing," the Fallen angel kept taunting, blocking a punch that Dean was certain could break through solid concrete easily. "We will resurrect our Father… and we will… destroy your Host!"

"Belial, you will never succeed in—!" Castiel shot back, eyes blazing.

The red-eyed creature snarled. "Shut up!" he said, voice booming. "Come on, angel, get a grip. We allll know how this ends." He grinned, teeth shining white through the dim light of dusk, even as the two angels fought closer and closer. "You know especially, since you ruined it the first time. Well, never again!"

Dean found the strength to run back to the car. They didn't need the knife. They needed the other one. He fumbled with the bag he had set on the backseat. The shotgun in one hand, he saw a flash of silver and grabbed for it with his other, mind on fire—

Turning, Dean expected to see the fight still going. It was. He started to run back, chest burning—

And then, without warning, everything screwed up. Castiel either tripped or was kicked down, because the next thing Dean knew, his angel was on the ground and suddenly, he realized they were screwed.

The Fallen angel was on top of Castiel in a heartbeat, it's jovial attitude long gone. Its eyes shone red and it _loomed_ over Castiel, claws embedded in Castiel's collar, literally.

"Tell me where the Scion is!" it roared.

Castiel didn't even blink. "_No_."

Three more vicious strikes threw the angel's head back and forth, but he never made a sound. The red-eyed angel drew back, hissing. "Tell me!" it demanded.

"Go…" Castiel choked out, hands grappling at the fingers around his throat, "die in a fire."

Dean made a mental memo to give the angel a pat on the back for that one. He needed some work, but hey, at least he remembered to try being the sarcastic asshole Dean had tried to raise him to be.

The command didn't do much more to piss the already enraged demon off. Looming over the angel, it made a series of strange noises Dean couldn't decipher. "I may be Fallen, _brother_," the demon spat, reaching up, "but I remember."

Dean really wanted the look of fear in Castiel's expression to have just been in his mind, but after what happened next, he realized that the angel had truly been stricken with terror. For good reason.

"I remember your _tricks_!" the demon shrieked, before plunging his hand, forearm and nearly his elbow, straight into Castiel's chest.

Mind going blank with shock, Dean knew he should have reacted. At first, he would have guessed the move would be painful, but not fatal. Castiel was an angel now, a full-blooded one. A little flesh wound like a punch through a chest? _Ha_, it would have been a bitch, but not the end of the world.

However, Dean had about three seconds to recover from that before something else happened. Something unexpected… and horrible.

Castiel made a horrible gasping sound the moment the demon's limb plunged through his chest—and then, he started to scream. Not yell, not curse—no, he started screaming _bloody murder_.

Dean hit the ground as the shrieking turned into the elevated, burning hum he recognized as the true voice of an angel—Castiel's real voice. It was impossibly loud and the windows on the Impala shattered almost instantly. Dean tried to stand upright, but his ears were most likely bleeding. He couldn't think with all of the pain and noise. He hunched over, yelling out as well. The noise kept coming and coming—Castiel kept _screaming_.

Somewhere in all of that, Dean remembered why Castiel was screaming. Forcing himself to look up, he saw the Fallen angel, his elbow sticking out of Castiel's chest as the angel writhed and screeched on the ground. He had never—never, _ever_—seen something like this, where an angel was literally brought to a level of madness through pain. Castiel never yelled when he was in pain. Whatever was happening was _killing_ him.

Dean didn't know where he got the strength, but he found himself grabbing the shotgun in his other hand, now that the Fallen was preoccupied. The possessed body wasn't fairing too well under the angelic screams either, so Dean had his chance when the demon was completely absorbed in doing whatever it was doing to Castiel.

The shotgun blasts were lost to the symphony of the humming, which continued for a good five seconds after the Fallen was physically knocked away from Castiel's prone form. Dean collapsed, just as the demon struggled to its own feel, snarling with burning red eyes.

"—_KILL YOU_!" the demon screeched, lunging across the field. Dean fell backwards, hands fumbling—

The Fallen let out a horrible bellow when it finally landed on Dean. The human felt the clawed hands rip into his shoulder and he was _certain_ several ribs had been fractured from the collision that time, but he was the lucky one. With a howl of defeat, the red-eyed monster tried to wrench away, with the angel-killing knife buried in its chest.

With a flash of white light that forced Dean to close his eyes tightly, the Fallen angel fell backwards again, dead. Dean lay on the ground for… possibly a minute at most. He didn't have the strength to _think_ about moving, let alone actually doing it.

The compound and surrounding area was deathly still and quiet after that. Dean forced himself to roll over, breathing heavily. Everything hurt, but hurting could wait. They had to get out of the open. If two demons had found them, there was no telling who, or what, was watching them now.

When Dean looked up, he sought out Castiel. It wasn't difficult to find the angel, who was sprawled where the demon had left him. There wasn't a gaping, bloody hole in his chest. It was like nothing had happened.

However, from the way Castiel was suddenly breathing as if he was dying, Dean realized something was very, very wrong.

"Oh, God… oh… shit," he stammered. Dean stumbled to his feet, rushing over to his friend, kneeling down, eyes wide. "Cas… Cas?"

Castiel's eyes were tightly squinted shut and he was inhaling oxygen like it were water and he hadn't had any for years. Dean felt something cold sweep through his gut.

"Cas! A-are you okay? !" he demanded, reaching down and grabbed Castiel by the shoulder.

That got him two bright blue eyes staring up at him, shining with agony. "Dean…" Castiel managed to say through gritted teeth.

This was wrong. This was all wrong. "Oh, man…" Dean knelt there, feeling utterly helpless. "This… okay, what happened?" Castiel's eyes almost closed, but Dean grabbed his shoulder again. "Hello—stay with me here, Cas! _Focus_! What did he do? !"

"Spell—," Castiel bit out again, voice hoarse. He looked like he was dying. "Grace."

One word sent dozens of questions through Dean's mind. Grace? Castiel's angelic grace? Did… that mean the Fallen had…? "…He was fucking around with your Grace?" Dean managed to ask, horrified.

Castiel swallowed and stared up at the sky, begging for mercy with his expression alone. "Meant for—human—souls," he said shakily. His whole body spasmed in a way an angel's vessel just _shouldn't_ have. "I can't—move."

Dean had never felt more helpless or out of his element. "Please, please tell me you can heal from this," he said, trying not to beg. He probably sounded like he was. He felt like begging. This wasn't happening. This couldn't have been—

"Can't… not alone," Castiel managed to say, sending Dean's denial crashing back down. He clenched his eyes shut again in pain.

Oh, fuck. Oh FUCK. "Get out of there then," Dean said, ignoring how his own voice wavered. "Get back to Heaven and get one of your buddies to help you then."

"I…" Castiel paused to catch his breath—since when did angels breathe?—and seemed to wilt even more. "Trapped."

Trapped? _Trapped_? What the HELL did that even mean? !

"Oh, Jesus—_fine_." Dean stood up and stared down at Castiel, forcing himself into the serious, non-panicking mode his father had almost beat into him. Any situation, a Winchester could handle it. "Alright. We're getting you back to the damn hotel and I'm calling Gabriel." From there they could—

Castiel inhaled, the sound horrible, as he lurching upright as far as he could. "_No_!" he croaked, eyes wide with fear rather than pain. "Stays with Deborah!"

"She can get a new babysitter," Dean snapped, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"Dean!" Castiel snapped. He fell back against the ground, trying to take in deeper breaths. When he spoke, it was weaker, but the razor sharp tone was still there. "Follow… the _plan_."

_Fuck the plan._ Burn it, blow it up, destroy it—Dean was sick of goddamn plans and all the crap they did to his life. He wanted to forget everything and force the archangel to get his feathery ass over to where they were, to fix Castiel, before something worse happened.

But then he remembered _why_ there was a plan, and he stopped himself. Dean watched Castiel breathing like an old man on life support, draped across the ground like he had been crucified. The only time Dean had ever seen the angel this bad was when he had been half-human and teleporting them through time. This time, however, Castiel wasn't passing out. He looked like he wanted to, but angels couldn't sleep. This was just _pain_.

"Are you _dying_? !" Dean demanded, trying to keep calm. He couldn't handle this now. He just couldn't…!

"…I…" the angel started, but he lost the energy to speak.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Dean couldn't fix this. He couldn't. Why wasn't this him being injured? Castiel could fix him in no time. But not the other way around.

Dean couldn't _fix this_.

"I'm going to call to tell him to send someone else then, okay? !" the human said, trying his hardest not to panic. He held a hand out to steady Castiel's shoulder once he got him upright. "Better yet, give me a name you trust. I'll—I'll pray." There had to be somebody up there who would listen.

Castiel shook his head, or at least tried to. "Too…" he began, but suddenly trailed off. His head dipped downward and a flare of unadulterated panic seared through Dean's gut.

"Cas? _CAS_!" he shouted, grabbing the angel by the lapels. He dragged the unresponsive form upright, trying to make eye contact. "Don't you fucking dare pass out on me, you pansy with wings. Let's go!"

By the grace of somebody watching out there, Castiel was still conscious. His eyes were out of focus and he made no effort to help or hinder Dean as the taller man dragged him to the passenger side door of the Impala. Dean's heart beat furiously as he managed to get the angel into the seat, panic only growing worse when Castiel just sagged to the side, wheezing. After shutting the door, Dean ran around the front of the car on unsteady legs, mind set on getting to the motel in record time.

And then he prayed.

_Raphael, listen up you sorry fuck, you know who this is. Send one of your goons down here, right now, we just got our asses handed to us by one of Jesse's people!_

Speeding toward the main part of town, Dean kept sending the collapsed angel in the passenger seat desperate looks.

"Hang there, Cas," he said, trying to just keep Castiel focused. The angel was staring upwards, eyes shining. "Don't go anywhere. This—this is going to be fixed ASAP, as long as your damn angel buddies actually answer the phone for once." Dean licked his lips, turning the car sharply. "Alright—alright, listen to my voice and just don't… leave."

Castiel shuddered so violently, it was visible in the dark. "Dean…" he rasped, maybe trying to chide Dean's nervousness, or it was just a plea. Never had the angel ever looked so—so—_mortal_.

_Raphael, you SORRY SON OF A BITCH, get the FUCK down here and HELP US—_

"Don't say anything. Listen," Dean said, coaxing, just trying. He cracked a weak smile, forcing himself not to drive too fast or else he'd crash the car. "You probably know all about me, but let me think… um… we never did get around to getting you to watch _Star Wars_ did we? The good ones, not those shitty new ones with that creepy kid as Darth Vader."

Castiel inhaled a ragged breath and Dean ground his teeth. Why the _FUCK_ wasn't Raphael answering—? !

"The story's totally up your alley, man, with the whole, you know, good versus evil. Almost ironic to watch it now." Dean laughed weakly, his grip on the steering wheel burning his skin. "Uhh, there's this guy, Luke, who lives on this one planet with his aunt and uncle. It's in the future, but not, and there are space ships and, uh, more of that fancy space technology Sam always talks about. Not _Star Trek_ but close. Anyway, there're these robots and—"

He kept rambling as much as he could, always making sure Castiel was listening. He wasn't sure if Castiel was actually paying attention to the words, but the angel kept his eyes open. Dean felt horrible, knowing the angel was in agony, but angels didn't sleep. They didn't pass out. And if Castiel did either of those things—they obviously were in over their heads.

The motel parking lot came up faster than he had anticipated and the car bounced onto the slightly sloped parking spot. Dean fumbled with his door after grabbing the keys. Castiel had slumped over against the window completely, his breath making fog on the window.

_Oh, God don't be dead. Please, don't be dying—_

Dean opened the door and was glad Castiel was able to stay upright in the seat. The human had no time to feel confident that his friend was better off than he seemed, because the moment their eyes met, all Dean could read in Castiel's inhuman blue eyes was pain, agony, wordless frustration and—

Fear.

The moment to stand around was over. Dean grit his teeth and steeled his heart. They were going to be fine. They just needed to buck up and—just take this one step at a time.

"When this is over," Dean muttered, grabbing Castiel by the arm, "you owe me, big time."

He hauled the angel up, bracing the full weight of the smaller man over his shoulders, and managed to drag him toward the door.

**0000**

Getting back to the motel had been Hell for both of them, for different reasons. Dean had tried fervently to reach Raphael, but Castiel knew that they couldn't expect help from his brother. As far as Raphael was concerned, Castiel was better off dying.

He didn't know if he was dying. He felt like he was. Everything felt wrong. His Grace—it wasn't where it should have been. Shifted. Mutilated. If he were capable of tears, Castiel would have none left at that point.

"Shit, _shit_—drugs don't even work on you now, damn it," Dean was muttering. He was rummaging through his supplies, trying to fix what should never have been damaged. Trying so hard.

Castiel wanted to tell him it was alright and that he just needed time, but the pain wouldn't let him speak. He lay on the bed, jerking every once in a while from a spasm of pain, shivering, feeling incoherent. This was worse than the time he had become human.

Everything hurt.

"I'm going to get ice," Dean was saying, though the words didn't quite add up in Castiel's mind. He saw the human gesture at him, panicky, before heading for the door. "I'll be right back, Cas. Don't—move. I'll be right back!"

The door slammed shut and echoed a thousand times over Castiel's burning mind. He wanted to fly, but his Grace wouldn't cooperate. His wings were useless. _He_ was useless.

What if Jesse was there? Or more demons attacked? He couldn't just lie there. Dean needed his help. Castiel tried to move, but his human form was just as disconnected from his Grace as his Grace was to his mind. Everything felt heavier than it should have. Everything burned.

_This too shall pass. _

Castiel couldn't remember when he had begun to breathe as if he actually had it. It almost helped, gasping in cold air, to soothe the fire in his chest. He curled up on his side, trying to hold off the agony. If only he could sleep. Sleep—to hold it all off.

…_and God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted, beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it…._

The floor creaked and Castiel felt someone loom behind him. For a moment, all fear left him, because he felt the warmth of a friend.

"Dean…?"

Castiel froze when he felt four fingers touch the back of his head with unnatural lightness—and then all he knew was _peace_.

.

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_**Next**_**: The boys have a visitor and Dean has more problems.**

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**

**A/Ns**:  
-The Grace distorting maneuver the demon pulled on Cas? I stole that from Castiel in Season Six, when he soul-searches that kid who had the Staff of Moses (_The Third Man_). XD I figured it might work on supernatural creatures too, only for Cas, it's his Grace and not a soul that's been tortured.  
-_Paradise Lost_ is an epic poem by John Milton. It's long, difficult to read, but super interesting. If you like _Supernatural's_ take on the Devil, you'll love Milton's. :) Lucifer is quite the sympathetic character in it. I highly recommend it.


	12. Week 12 and 13

_**Revelations  
**_**Weeks 12-13  
**By Nan00k

Sorry for disappearing for a bit, guys! I got significantly distracted by my other stories, but here's the next installment. :) Hopefully now we can return to more frequent updates!

An old friend appears and the boys realize they're grounded. Dean has problems (this isn't new).

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**Warnings**: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)**  
Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.

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When Dean walked into the motel room and saw Castiel with his eyes closed facing the door, the first thing the hunter wanted to do was scream. Castiel looked dead—not unconscious, not healing—freaking dead—

"CAS!" Dean shouted, barely remembering to slam the door shut. He had to put salt up, he had to protect Castiel, but Castiel was dying—

Nearly flying across the room and falling over the bed, Dean barely stopped himself from grabbing the angel by the coat collar. "Oh, no… Cas… _Castiel_!" Dean shouted again. He dared to touch the splattered white shirt to try to shake him as gently as possible. "Hey, hey, what the hell, don't you die on me—!"

"Hello, Dean!"

Dean's gasp choked him as he spun around. First instinct told him to grab his gun. It was on the table by the door. Second instinct told him to duck and dodged. But Castiel was right behind him and was a prone target.

However, just as those two fleeting fight-or-flight feelings hit Dean, they left, because Dean was not staring down a demon emerging from the bathroom. He was facing down a human… a familiar one.

"_Jesus Christ_—Chuck? !" Dean sputtered, dropping the bag of ice that had been in a vice grip in his hands. He stumbled backwards at the sight of the bearded prophet smiling at him from the other side of the bed. "What the fuck? ! How—where the _hell_ have you been? !"

Chuck Shurley smiled nervously and waved slightly as he braced against the wall now under Dean's angry response. "Sorry. I took a little vacation…" he said, trialing off. He looked sheepish. "I didn't think that was such a good idea, was it?"

Frankly, Dean didn't give two shits about Chuck Shurley, not now. He turned back to Castiel, who was unconscious even after all that yelling. Dean hesitated as he reached to touch Castiel's shoulder. The only way Dean knew he was still alive was because his skin was still flush; damn angels didn't even breathe normally.

"Aw, man… Cas… wake up," Dean pleaded, hating the fact he sounded like he was begging. Dean Winchester didn't beg. "Come on."

The floorboards creaked under the worn motel carpet. "He'll be okay," Chuck said, surprising Dean again. He rubbed his chin, looking at Castiel with both wariness and concern. "A few days rest will do him good."

For the first time since realizing who it was, Dean peered closer at Chuck. His mind struggled to keep up.

What the hell was he doing here?

"Y-you saw this?" Dean asked, venturing a guess.

Chuck nodded, shrugging as he moved back around from the bed, Dean watching him carefully. "Yeah. Bits and pieces," the Prophet said, stuttering. "He just needed a healing trance."

Dean paused. "I thought he said he needed another angel to do that," he said, glancing upwards. Ugh. He'd prefer not to have to get another one down there, but it wasn't like Raphael was sending anyone anyway.

"I guess it worked out. I don't know, Dean," Chuck said, suddenly exasperated. He stopped and gave Dean an oddly appraising look as the hunter got to work trying to make Castiel comfortable. "I… how are you?"

Stopping in mid-reach to grab a towel off the side table and the ice bag on the floor, Dean almost laughed. Almost. He turned and gave the Prophet a sneer, even if the awkward man had meant well. Dean was not in the mood for meant-well conversation.

"How am _I_?" he asked, trying not to be bitter. He smirked as he wrapped the ice in the towel, adrenaline rush crashing down into the barest-there trembles. "I'm beaten, bruised, bleeding… the usual. You're the one who already knows, right?"

Perhaps that had been harsh. Dean didn't care. He set to work dragging Castiel's coat off his motionless, but still incredibly heavy, body. Even if he couldn't help his friend, at least he could make him comfortable.

Then again, Castiel and comfortable just didn't go. Still. It made Dean feel better pretending he was doing something worthwhile.

Across from him, Chuck continued to hover awkwardly. "Right…" the short man said. He rubbed the back of his head and seemed to be reluctant to speak. When he did, it was quiet. Remorseful. "I'm… sorry. About Sam."

Dean didn't look at the so-called Prophet. He stared at the beige bedspread, eyes seeing nothing. He forced himself to let go of Castiel's coat before he ripped it in half.

"…What's done is done," Dean said carefully, draping the coat of Castiel instead. He didn't' need this now. Not now.

Chuck frowned when Dean finally did look up at him. "You didn't used to think that way," he said. It wasn't accusing the way he said it; just a fact.

Dean scowled. "Yeah… well…" He looked back down and decided to focus on the injured angel passed out on the bed. "Shit. Is he really going to be okay?"

Despite the fact that he was a prophet and he should have been able to give a better answer than a goddamn shrug, Chuck shrugged. "Yeah. Give him time, he'll come out of it," he said. He edged a little further back from the bed with his shoulders hunched. "I should go."

"Why?" Dean demanded. Sure Chuck was useless, but it was irrationally comforting to have at least someone else backing him up.

Then again, he already had one companion who was useless currently, so maybe it was a good thing to downsize.

Chuck wrung his hands nervously. "I don't want the angels finding me again. They're not my favorites. No offense to Cas," he stammered, eyes going down to the angel on the bed.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right. I hear ya." He adjusted the bag of ice distractedly. "How are you hiding from them?"

"I got you know, protection," Chuck said, gesturing at his chest. Dean nodded; those protective sigils that Cas gave him, then. "And I don't like staying in one place, you know?"

"Right." Dean sat down on the corner of the bed and ran a hand over his face. "God… I am so damn tired of running."

Chuck was quiet for a moment. "…I'm sorry," he offered pathetically.

Dean allowed himself another moment of feigned peace before opening his eyes and getting up again. "Whatever." He moved over to take Castiel's wrist to try to feel a pulse, but yeah, that was pointless. Damned angels.

"So, ah, I guess I'll just leave…" Chuck said, gesturing at the door and already moving toward it.

Dean ignored him pointedly—until he realized that in his haze of panic over Castiel, he had missed a very important fact about running into Chuck of all people. Even if Castiel was down for the count now, Dean still had a job to do.

"Wait!" Dean called out. He pointed at the Prophet, who had shrunk down in fear when Dean rounded on him. "Chuck, shit. I forgot."

"Wh-what?"

"I need to ask you something." Dean hesitated and wondered how to go about asking what he needed to ask. "If you've had visions about it, I mean."

Chuck looked like he was trying to figure a way out of answering, which made Dean glare more. "Well… my visions really haven't been the same. I haven't been writing much, you know," Chuck offered. He hesitated. "About what?"

"Jesse Turner." Dean leaned more into his personal space. "Tell me everything you know about him."

Chuck stared at him. For a moment, Dean was almost taken back by the look he received, for just a split of a second. It wasn't Chuck's usual demure look. It was… more distant.

The look faded away rapidly and was replaced by a nervous chuckle.

"Oh… _that_."

**0000**

Quarter past eleven, Castiel woke up. He was never one for dramatics, but it certainly made Dean jump when the covers moved and he was suddenly staring down very intensely confused blue eyes.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Dean began in lieu of a proper greeting, because he was honestly too happy to see his friend not unconscious to be series.

"Dean?" Castiel froze. "…I was unconscious." That wasn't a question.

Dean dumped the now-water ice bag to the side. "Yeah. Healing trance, I heard."

Castiel did not look convinced. He actually looked alarmed. "I cannot go into one without the use of my Grace. It was tied up, by… by the altercation."

Dean shrugged. "Well, maybe it fixed itself, 'cause you were out like a light when Chuck showed up."

"_Chuck Shurley_?" Castiel blurted out, shocked. He tried to sit up. Dean almost laughed at his reaction.

"Yeah." Dean leaned against the wall with his arms against his chest. "He saw we were going to be over here and he was traveling through, so he thought to stop by. Said hi, by the way."

For a long second, Castiel stared at him; the look in his eyes made it seem like he was trying to answer a difficult riddle in his head. Dean figured that meant the angel was on the mend. "…That makes no sense," Castiel accused. "Where has he been? How is he remaining untraceable?"

Dean gestured at his chest, now feeling much better. "You gave him the sigil protection, remember? Chuck's not stupid. He'll keep his head down," he said. "He said he was going soul searching or something. Wanted to get away from the mess of writing, and, well, the whole… apocalypse thing."

No one could blame a guy for that, Dean thought, even though he was incredibly jealous about being able to slip away like that. He would totally trade visions of the end of times for the actual stopping said-end of times.

"We needed his input about Jesse," Castiel immediately said, mind going exactly where Dean's had gone.

"Don't get your feathers in a knot, genius, I did ask him that," Dean said, waving his hand.

"And?" Castiel prompted, moving his coat to the side, disinterested in having it for warmth. It was kind of silly in hindsight thinking that he did need it.

"He says he can't see where Jesse is, because of the whole anti-Christ thing, we figure," Dean replied, remembering what Chuck had rambled off before disappearing into the night. "But Jesse is alive and he's apparently moving. Chuck saw visions of different places he's been, in the after-stages, because of all the demon that follow behind Jesse. Even if the kid isn't evil, his little groupies are causing a shit storm once they catch wind of him, too."

"Then we have no lead?" Castiel asked, frustrated.

Deans shook his head. "Nothing right now. Chuck said if we follow the demons, we could probably figure out where he is."

A small sigh escaped Castiel's mouth, which was surprising. "Not now," the angel said, leaning his head back against the headboard. He generally didn't allow himself to look tired, so he must have been exhausted.

"Hell no, not now," Dean said firmly. He patted Castiel on the shoulder, ignoring how the angel sent him an odd look in return. "You rest up, buddy. You aren't up for moving around yet anyway, so let's enjoy a little vacation from the whole anti-Christ hunting."

They'd definitely have to keep to the car after this, at least for a while. Having Castiel grounded would be a problem if they ran into more of those demon swarms that were hunting Jesse down. Dean wondered if they could take a risk and simply wait on continuing the hunt until Castiel had his mojo back in order. Chuck said it could take up to two _weeks_…

"…Dean?" Castiel began, surprising him. He looked curiously at the hunter. "I never gave Chuck protective seals."

Dean stared back at the angel. It took him a moment to catch up to that spontaneous piece of information, but when he did, it still didn't make any sense.

"…What?" he asked, startled. But how did he escape the angels this whole time? Did another one give him the seals?

Castiel's frown and narrowed eyes deepened. "I never did. They would not work on a Prophet of the Lord."

That wasn't… Dean wasn't entirely sure what the hell that even meant. "…That's… weird," he said, mind still stalling.

"Yes," Castiel replied, almost glaring now, he was so confused.

Despite the weirdness, Dean wasn't overly concerned. After all, out of everything else happening in their lives right now, this was probably the least weird. "Whatever," he said, dumping his jacket over the chair back. "He's not our concern anymore."

He decided to wash up—there was angel and human blood on his hands, on his clothing and probably over his poor baby outside—but it was already closing in on midnight. He'd have time to linseed oil the hell out of the seat cushion in the morning. Now, he just wanted to get the blood flakes out of his hair and out from under his nails.

"Takin' a shower," he said, almost as a warning, as Castiel gingerly sat up straighter. The angel nodded and seemed alright sitting there alone for a few minutes.

Dean pealed off his shirt and was glad that it had absorbed most of the blood. He turned the shower on and started to wash his hands in the sink.

He should have been grateful, he realized, that there was only a small part of the water turning brown. Castiel had been really screwed up by this. He had escaped mostly unscathed as well. A little blood was a million times better than a lot—

"_You nearly lost it there, Dean_."

Dean froze. He didn't look up. He didn't want to. He couldn't.

Because for the first time in his long time, he was afraid of ghosts. He was fucking petrified.

"_You nearly lost him, too_," Sam said, shrug in his voice. Dean shuddered when he felt his brother step up behind him. "_Don't tell me that doesn't bother you_."

"Cas!" Dean shouted, voice startling himself fiercely. He nearly lost a fight with vertigo as he spun around, eyes blind to the world, and stomped out into the main room.

Castiel was sitting exactly where and how Dean had left him, propped up against the headboard. At Dean's shout and rushed reentrance, the angel sat up straighter, eyes narrowed.

"Dean?" he began to ask, before Dean cut him off.

"Am I dreaming?" the human demanded, marching straight into the angel's personal space. Behind him, the sound of the shower was like thunder.

Castiel was undaunted as he peered up questionably into Dean's face, oblivious to Dean's rapidly beating heart. "…No," the angel replied. A question tinted his words. "Why?"

Dean felt a cold sweat drink down his back. "…nothing. _Nothing_." He turned away, his emotions turning from an undistinguishable state into anger. He didn't want to go back into the bathroom. Instead, he grabbed one of the pillows that had ended up on the end of the bed. "If you're not going to sleep, at least give me the pillows. I'm crashing on the floor. I'm exhausted."

Castiel immediately sat up and attempted to stand. "Don't," the angel said. He ignored Dean's protest. "I do not require the bed. I don't need to sleep."

"Bullshit," Dean said, glaring. He pointed at Castiel's face, which was still way too pale and gaunt, even for a freaking angel. "You look horrible."

"Regardless, you need sleep. Use the bed," the angel replied. "I can rest sitting in a chair just as well as laying down."

They ended up staring at each other for way longer than they should have. Dean knew winning a stare down against Castiel of all creatures was a hopeless. After a whole night of running around in panic and then—then _that_, in the bathroom—he was just too tired.

"…stubborn ass," Dean growled. He followed Castiel with a glare back to the table, where Castiel moved to the bathroom to turn off the water. At least he knew how to do that. "Don't go anywhere while I'm sleeping. I _mean_ it."

"I will not," Castiel promised once he came back into the room and silence rang out between them. He sat down on the recliner, almost amused. He tilted his head in a tired manner at the human grumpily shoving blankets aside on the bed in order to lie down. "Dean. Sleep well."

Dean didn't bother finishing getting changed, though he did take his shoes off. He climbed under the sheet and froze when he went to turn the light off. He wasn't sure what stayed his hand more—the idea of the dark returning, or the fear he would fall asleep and have to deal with whatever happened afterwards.

"…Thanks," he muttered. He tugged on the cord and the room was drenched in darkness. "Get better."

Castiel said nothing and Dean shut his eyes tightly, glad the dark hid his grimace.

He prayed that he wouldn't dream.

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**End **_**Week 12-13**_**.**

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Next, both Deborah and Castiel do some soul searching.

**Notes**:  
-No, Sam is not a ghost. This is just pure psychological fuckery for poor Dean.


End file.
